Post by Owen from Final Fantasy on Sept 12, 2009 21:57:01 GMT -5
Don't want to go into the grisly details, but I have pages and pages of scrapped lyrics for Heartland. Seeing as I'm writing new stuff now, and Heartland's lyrics were pretty, erm, 'topical', I have no use for these fragments and they are going to the incinerator. I figured it might be entertaining... for some of you... to examine these embarrassing scraps of lyrical ineligibility.
Graveyard
When you were young, you kept a box of writing by your bed
You wrote a one-act play
Politics are hidden in
The way you treat the people on the payroll
Singing to a stranger 'bout the Left
Never put food on his table
Father was a poet, well-paid
He goes unmentioned in the lectures
Paid by the State to keep his mouth shut
His influence is left to conjecture
Like Bob Dylan's
Like Bob Dylan's
Like Bob Dylan's ghost-writer
Man is bad and man is a burden
But so stackable!
Arrow in the side, what's a boy a to do?
Hear the hero's anguished cry
What. Is a boy. To. Do?
I fell in love with the piano teacher's daughter
And her brusque interpretation of Schumann
Listening to Aufschwung til my lesson began
Listening to Aufschwung til my lesson began
My fingers linked to make a step
We hopped the gate and crossed ourselves
I stumbled on a marker and he
Picked me up and dusted off
He drove me forward with a light touch in the small of my back
He knows when to touch me in public
Faith sets the day afire
Faith sets the day afire
Get a bucket of water
Hey, Catalano.
Don't talk to that guy with the notebook.
A man beckons me out the window.
Didn't we once have a cat?
Give me your hand I'm an excellent sherpa.
How do I feel? You don't want to know.
I want you to know, but I don't want to tell you.
I'm closing my eyes and sending you vibes:
“A man says 'No', but he means 'Get lost.”
Can you give me a leg up? Get lost.
Flickering like an oil lamp, a stranger at the foot of the bed.
The colour of space, the colour of dread, oh.
The Malcolm I remember
Would never leave a woman to drown.
An elegant bachelor, a servant to the crown.
Just a small glance as you wrapped up my pork pie.
But I knew you glimpsed it within me: my heavy heart.
The son of a piano met the daughter of a contrabassoon.
The bitch is hungry
And hunger's a hell of a drug.
How often do you shave?
Once a day? Twice a week?
Not a fan of the high life.
But you'll never see me working the soil.
Some of my best friends are trust funds
And some are worse than others
They get down, so down, cause the press can be cruel
Then, an endless duel
Between the Self and the Other
“I am rather overrated,”
“My statement will be seen as seminal.”
Meanwhile, some of my friends are single mothers
Did you see the face of the water-carrier?
I had her in the night.
She warmed the water and squeezed the sponge over
She is ten years older.
Your money's no good here
Your materials will never prevail
Our hero is hardened
And steeped in the salt of the earth
A hist'ry of prophetry's a history of low birth
The man is depressed
He was flayed in the weekly press
Oh graduates, graduates
Sweat is running down my back
To the crack of my arse
I terraform my arse
I terraform my arse
Nature is a con-woman, nature is a fraud
Nature took me by the hand and showed me pretty things
The river won't refuse a man,
The ocean won't say no.
Oscillate, I oscillate, and frequency increase
The river is a talker and the woods are alive,
The crew and I don't entirely understand each other.
And I'm too preoccupied to have a drink with them.
Thanksgiving begins with flint and tinder.
There are some mornings
I wish I was Oe.
Trying to teach the salmon
How to swim the other way.
These statements are dainty.
They say, “I love to pussyfoot, I won't look you in the eye.”
Here is the thrust of it:
I will seek out my own satisfaction.
Laid in the rowboat
Started to shiver
The shirt unbuttons
Off comes the bandage
The tendons tender
But I can manage
Over the ocean, our things will travel.
Maximalism
Is your distortion
Layer upon layer
Of self-absorption
Nice head of hair on those legs.
You've a good head for figures.
All at once,
That expression is familiar.
I saw it on the face of...
Well, you got a familiar face.
Here, let me set up the stage.
I'd brought about the downfall of many a demi-mage.
I killed innocents, too.
Graveyard
When you were young, you kept a box of writing by your bed
You wrote a one-act play
Politics are hidden in
The way you treat the people on the payroll
Singing to a stranger 'bout the Left
Never put food on his table
Father was a poet, well-paid
He goes unmentioned in the lectures
Paid by the State to keep his mouth shut
His influence is left to conjecture
Like Bob Dylan's
Like Bob Dylan's
Like Bob Dylan's ghost-writer
Man is bad and man is a burden
But so stackable!
Arrow in the side, what's a boy a to do?
Hear the hero's anguished cry
What. Is a boy. To. Do?
I fell in love with the piano teacher's daughter
And her brusque interpretation of Schumann
Listening to Aufschwung til my lesson began
Listening to Aufschwung til my lesson began
My fingers linked to make a step
We hopped the gate and crossed ourselves
I stumbled on a marker and he
Picked me up and dusted off
He drove me forward with a light touch in the small of my back
He knows when to touch me in public
Faith sets the day afire
Faith sets the day afire
Get a bucket of water
Hey, Catalano.
Don't talk to that guy with the notebook.
A man beckons me out the window.
Didn't we once have a cat?
Give me your hand I'm an excellent sherpa.
How do I feel? You don't want to know.
I want you to know, but I don't want to tell you.
I'm closing my eyes and sending you vibes:
“A man says 'No', but he means 'Get lost.”
Can you give me a leg up? Get lost.
Flickering like an oil lamp, a stranger at the foot of the bed.
The colour of space, the colour of dread, oh.
The Malcolm I remember
Would never leave a woman to drown.
An elegant bachelor, a servant to the crown.
Just a small glance as you wrapped up my pork pie.
But I knew you glimpsed it within me: my heavy heart.
The son of a piano met the daughter of a contrabassoon.
The bitch is hungry
And hunger's a hell of a drug.
How often do you shave?
Once a day? Twice a week?
Not a fan of the high life.
But you'll never see me working the soil.
Some of my best friends are trust funds
And some are worse than others
They get down, so down, cause the press can be cruel
Then, an endless duel
Between the Self and the Other
“I am rather overrated,”
“My statement will be seen as seminal.”
Meanwhile, some of my friends are single mothers
Did you see the face of the water-carrier?
I had her in the night.
She warmed the water and squeezed the sponge over
She is ten years older.
Your money's no good here
Your materials will never prevail
Our hero is hardened
And steeped in the salt of the earth
A hist'ry of prophetry's a history of low birth
The man is depressed
He was flayed in the weekly press
Oh graduates, graduates
Sweat is running down my back
To the crack of my arse
I terraform my arse
I terraform my arse
Nature is a con-woman, nature is a fraud
Nature took me by the hand and showed me pretty things
The river won't refuse a man,
The ocean won't say no.
Oscillate, I oscillate, and frequency increase
The river is a talker and the woods are alive,
The crew and I don't entirely understand each other.
And I'm too preoccupied to have a drink with them.
Thanksgiving begins with flint and tinder.
There are some mornings
I wish I was Oe.
Trying to teach the salmon
How to swim the other way.
These statements are dainty.
They say, “I love to pussyfoot, I won't look you in the eye.”
Here is the thrust of it:
I will seek out my own satisfaction.
Laid in the rowboat
Started to shiver
The shirt unbuttons
Off comes the bandage
The tendons tender
But I can manage
Over the ocean, our things will travel.
Maximalism
Is your distortion
Layer upon layer
Of self-absorption
Nice head of hair on those legs.
You've a good head for figures.
All at once,
That expression is familiar.
I saw it on the face of...
Well, you got a familiar face.
Here, let me set up the stage.
I'd brought about the downfall of many a demi-mage.
I killed innocents, too.
I was wondering what songs these might be from. It's interesting and intriguing to read all these lyrics even without much context. 
) attempts are mostly an embarrassment but I hate to just toss them. Sometimes it's nice to look back for a laugh.. or to see where you were.. or who you've been.