"Good. Now Go Home and Practice"
pick up my echo off seaside rocks that cross oceans
To craft chords?
Can I hit the third, add a flat, make a diminished 7th from my
One voice?
Can I craft the multiverse from one tongue?
Will my song for America be draped over a Korean teuroteu?
Will my Puerto Rican bachata be performed on Ellington's A train?
Will my new chorus be double time or one dropped?
If I can hit that chord, craft that multiverse, who can help with the mix?
Will I add your Boston grackel to beef up the bottom?
Can the sizzle of galmaegisal be our percussion?
Does your Haka shout with my Oi's?
Will your laugh collide with her Cynthesizer?
When the bar is underground is the soundscape more honest
or do we need the streetlamps and neon to read our music?
Will we ever master the track and sell it to anyone?
Will I sing the same? Should I sing at all?
You know, these lyrics don't pour the way they used to-
Syrup; held cold, made hard.
Crusted sweets clogging arteries and
thinking back
Hard work from morning to night
thinking back
Late nights with fortresses of mahogany
thinking now
That inspiration was assumed into heaven
with the rise of landing gear.
Maybe if I let the needle drop to groove through
reflections of a landscape once breathed.
Maybe if I let this be an exhale,
instead of just a scream.
I really like how you're getting out of your usual styles, that's never easy.
ReplyDelete"When the bar is underground is the soundscape more honest
ReplyDeleteor do we need the streetlamps and neon to read our music?"
"Syrup; held cold, made hard."
"That inspiration was assumed into heaven"
Mm. These were especially special to me.