TK
08/09/07, 03:03 AM
Well, it's 4:00 a.m. so I really don't care. Bash and criticize away...
The noise faded over all the words,
Somehow leaving the meaning objective and obscured,
and that is what we always crave.
A sense of mystery,
Wrapped in our poets finest drapery,
To hide behind all the imagery
That keeps the truth never as simple as it seems
But lost in all of our disillusioned dreams
of being the greatest of the great
In reality, our focus is shaken
The critics are vicious and the material is all taken
Every word you wrote has already been read in thousands of notes
Every line, reemphasized hundreds of times
Every verse sung, has been done, in counts of bad love songs
Face it kid,
You were cliche from the first word you had to say
The simple rhymes of friends old times,
The anguish of a love's bittertaste,
and the stories of all the brain cells we waste
With all our drugs and liquor;
So that these days may go by quicker
And the endless annoyance of the need to rhyme
Or the arrogance to scoff at those who can't write so elgant
As to melt the meaning into metaphors
It's this endless sense of mystery,
For us to wrap it in our finest drapery
So it's litterly dripping imagery
So we might one day be
The greatest of the great
In an art we call poetry.
But in reality, our focus is shaken
The critics are vicious and the material is all taken
Every word you wrote has already been read in thousands of notes
Every line reemphasize hundreds of times
Every verse sung, has been done, in counts of bad love songs
Face it kid,
They labeled you cliche,
from the first word you said.
The noise faded over all the words,
Somehow leaving the meaning objective and obscured,
and that is what we always crave.
A sense of mystery,
Wrapped in our poets finest drapery,
To hide behind all the imagery
That keeps the truth never as simple as it seems
But lost in all of our disillusioned dreams
of being the greatest of the great
In reality, our focus is shaken
The critics are vicious and the material is all taken
Every word you wrote has already been read in thousands of notes
Every line, reemphasized hundreds of times
Every verse sung, has been done, in counts of bad love songs
Face it kid,
You were cliche from the first word you had to say
The simple rhymes of friends old times,
The anguish of a love's bittertaste,
and the stories of all the brain cells we waste
With all our drugs and liquor;
So that these days may go by quicker
And the endless annoyance of the need to rhyme
Or the arrogance to scoff at those who can't write so elgant
As to melt the meaning into metaphors
It's this endless sense of mystery,
For us to wrap it in our finest drapery
So it's litterly dripping imagery
So we might one day be
The greatest of the great
In an art we call poetry.
But in reality, our focus is shaken
The critics are vicious and the material is all taken
Every word you wrote has already been read in thousands of notes
Every line reemphasize hundreds of times
Every verse sung, has been done, in counts of bad love songs
Face it kid,
They labeled you cliche,
from the first word you said.