The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good
eideteker

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  • Music:

I wish I could write

Lyrics like these:

My favorite (not) coping with suicide song of all time:
Rustic Overtones, Gas on Skin
I said,
"Don't put gas on skin.
But if it catches that's no long-cut leather jacket."
And he said,
"Here's when you lose your innocence."
And he said, "Boy, let's not pretend," and lit the matches.
And I'm afraid I've never seen a flame as great
As fire in the mattress, things just smoldering.
He's not in love with anything at all
The gas smells like his alcohol.

C They weren't fast enough
H Everything just blackened up
O In smoke.
R I let it burn (x3)
U And I was getting in my car.
S Getting in my car...

Why can't someone else be who just witnessed this?
Console me for the note you should have wrote
I'll just say you went to bed with cigarettes
They don't know you never smoked (x2)
And that you weren't in love with anything at all.
No one broke your heart, you just never got involved.

Chorus


From the random nouns, verbs, and adjectives combined into something nonsensically beautiful school:
King Crimson, In the Court of the Crimson King
The rusted chains of prison moons are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change; the tournament's begun.
The purple piper plays his tune, the choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue, for the court of the crimson king

The keeper of the city keys put shutters on the dreams.
I wait outside the pilgrim's door with insufficient schemes.
The black queen chants the funeral march,
The cracked brass bells will ring;
To summon back the fire witch to the court of the crimson king.

The gardener plants an evergreen whilst trampling on a flower.
I chase the wind of a prism ship to taste the sweet and sour.
The pattern juggler lifts his hand; the orchestra begin.
As slowly turns the grinding wheel in the court of the crimson king.

On soft grey mornings widows cry, the wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs to satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play but gently pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance in the court of the crimson king.


I'm feeling this clip right now:
From Rush's Distant Early Warning:
The world weighs on my shoulders, but what am I to do?
You sometimes drive me crazy, but I worry about you.
I know it makes no difference to what you're going through
But I see the tip of the iceberg, and I worry about you.
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