adventures in dysthymia

Monday, July 04, 2011

Judgment Day

Every day
is Judgment Day,
each day the past
is swept away.
Stand and fight,
kneel and pray,
but there's no hope
for those who stay.

We dwell in houses
built of dreams;
our world is not
what it seems.
Shouted prayers,
whispered screams,
as one god damns
and one redeems.

Sing your silent verse.
  (we hear you)
Speak your silent curse.
  (we fear you)
The black bliss of the night
  (so near you)
leaves no room for light.
  (we hear you)

Temptation offers sleep.
  (we name you)
Redemption's cost is steep.
  (we blame you)
Life's the flame that burns
  (became you)
through each soul that yearns.
  (we name you)

Play these games
of wrong and right,
in the gardens
of the night.
Pluck out one eye
to find sight,
and dare to look on
things that might.

Painless poison
fills my veins;
death fulfills
what life ordains.
Baptisms
of sacred rains
wash away
the losses and gains.

Stephen Brooke ©2011

Indulging my old tendency toward mystical mayhem in a rock setting. Who knows whether I'll ever do anything with my songs of this sort. The 'response' lines in the chorus section (the ones in parentheses) are just a thought -- I might prefer to play a riff there or something.



Had quite a rain last night, serious thunderstorms. That's a good thing, even if it kept me awake. Pretty decent rain the day before too, so that helps the drought situation a little. Only a little.


So today is Independence Day and Stephen Foster's birthday. I'm not much on nationalistic holidays but Foster was an extraordinary songwriter, so I'll celebrate that at least. Speaking of songs, a little thought on the subject:

On Lyrics and Music:

Music is the car in which my words ride. They are the passengers I am trying to get from here to there. Sometimes the car may be a Ferrari; more often it's a well-used Yugo. It doesn't matter, as long as it can make the trip.

I wouldn't write songs unless I had something I wanted to say. Not that I don't consider music important. I've written some instrumental work along the way -- it's not always just a conveyance.

But it is when I have words. That's its job.

SB 2011

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