
gone to wode
in the weald
gone to fever
in the head
would he to wild
oh darkling, at
spanning rivers
in his bed

gone to wode
in the weald
gone to fever
in the head
would he to wild
oh darkling, at
spanning rivers
in his bed
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oh, woodenhead
come in from the rain
quit your thefts
seeking a beauty
outside for a one
that is within
all crows make argue
for your eyes—
you do not use them
anyway, they say
instead, my woodenhead
you are a' thieving out
in the pouring rain
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Well, that would be two recent projects that just don’t have what I think is needed for prime time.
First, the song I was working on as an experiment where folks write the lyrics in a certain genre to a song of mine they never heard… I tried to make something of that last week and the initial takes just felt awkward. It’s not for the lack of Chris and Sandy’s lyrical talents; rather, I just couldn’t find a way to make either of them work well. Close, but no banana, as they say. It ended up feeling as if I should be doing less, rather than more, on the lyrics front. And my mind is blank for what would work, if you can believe that crap.
As an experiment, it was fun, but I don’t think anyone would thank me for putting the result out with their name associated. So, I’ll let it rest a bit and see if I either get a better sense of rhythm and flow to the lyrics, or if I come up with some of my own.
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is it descendance
or ascension
when desire is
in suspension?
when you feel
tension but remain
uncompelled to act
on anything at all?
are you alive
without drive or
are you just living
life small?
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i walk
the black sands
hand on hand
holding the blade
carving a line
none dare cross
we are rose petals
scattered scarlet
blood my blood
a desert red without
you mouth to
drink me in
winter song of wine
a stone beach
broken of time
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