I think this is my first deliberate attempt at a song about the whole "love thing".
Oh yeah. It's called a love song. I shivered as I typed that out. I don't like the thought of writing a love song. It's too emo. Whatever. I like the flow of this song. I am now on day 28 of writing the lyrics to this song. Be nice. I'm nervous.
(The new part)
I saw his silver heart
In a vase made for oil
Set in front of the monk
Who has overwhelmed the thought in me
Takes a swing at the table with his Sauria matches
Bringing more glitter in the form of light
There's no room in this cupboard built of sand
For this monk, myself and his heart-filled vessel
Yet with eyes brighter than gold on a monk
The vase is set on fire and his heart engulfed by flames
The tears on his face burn like the heart
Which taught us together a certain real lesson
There is a right sensation in dying
Not unless he was lying
True love burns through the heart
And blankets us over
Until our eyes are shut
This time it is your breath that holds me down
And our hold warming us over
In this place we let go of faith and become ourselves
(The old part)
I met a golden monk
With a silver heart
He had a fortress in a bowl
I felt my soul creep in front
Of these crying angels
Whose glitter and sparks
Fall away from my eyes
He smiles at my shrugged shoulder
And grins as he says
There is a right sensation in dying
Not unless god was lying
Your breath begins to hold you down
And warms you over until
You dream, and forget yourself
(Oldest part)
It can be a loud defeat
When there's pain in being silent and neat
You can work out a blueprint
But there's no need it won't fit.
Trying to forget you has me thinking
That all I'm trying to do is think suicide.
I feel a pen pressed on my cheek
The ink is sprayed and it stains me
I hold grapes dressed like olives
And wear my smoked velvet coat
There is a right sensation in dying
Not unless you were lying
I won't see you alright
Unless I feel you standing there
And crying out my name
That's what I have so far. I just need to tie in the oldest part, polish it all over, maybe add a few more words, then fix it to the music. I feel good.
Current favorite: Patrick Wolf - Lycanthropy
(The new part)
I saw his silver heart
In a vase made for oil
Set in front of the monk
Who has overwhelmed the thought in me
Takes a swing at the table with his Sauria matches
Bringing more glitter in the form of light
There's no room in this cupboard built of sand
For this monk, myself and his heart-filled vessel
Yet with eyes brighter than gold on a monk
The vase is set on fire and his heart engulfed by flames
The tears on his face burn like the heart
Which taught us together a certain real lesson
There is a right sensation in dying
Not unless he was lying
True love burns through the heart
And blankets us over
Until our eyes are shut
This time it is your breath that holds me down
And our hold warming us over
In this place we let go of faith and become ourselves
(The old part)
I met a golden monk
With a silver heart
He had a fortress in a bowl
I felt my soul creep in front
Of these crying angels
Whose glitter and sparks
Fall away from my eyes
He smiles at my shrugged shoulder
And grins as he says
There is a right sensation in dying
Not unless god was lying
Your breath begins to hold you down
And warms you over until
You dream, and forget yourself
(Oldest part)
It can be a loud defeat
When there's pain in being silent and neat
You can work out a blueprint
But there's no need it won't fit.
Trying to forget you has me thinking
That all I'm trying to do is think suicide.
I feel a pen pressed on my cheek
The ink is sprayed and it stains me
I hold grapes dressed like olives
And wear my smoked velvet coat
There is a right sensation in dying
Not unless you were lying
I won't see you alright
Unless I feel you standing there
And crying out my name
That's what I have so far. I just need to tie in the oldest part, polish it all over, maybe add a few more words, then fix it to the music. I feel good.
Current favorite: Patrick Wolf - Lycanthropy