Kate is amazing. This is a good song that's well written.

They told us the right song would come.
That the great idea would just... arrive.

It didn’t.

Every time they try to write something new,
it feels like finishing someone else’s thought.
Or quoting a quote they never read.

Or maybe they did.

They’re not blocked.
Not dry.

Just… surrounded.

Ideas are everywhere.
And every single one of them
already sounds like them.

Kate hums a melody.

“Nice,” Ava says.

Kate sighs.
“Oh, that? Paul Anka and David Bowie liked it too. Back in ’68.”

This is Test 10.

It’s not about ego.
It’s not about fame.

It’s the question every artist, scientist, and over-caffeinated soul eventually asks:

When do I get to write that song?

Song: When Do I Get to Write That Song?

They told me the words would just arrive
But I'm still searching for a line alive
I stitch together threads so thin
Hoping to craft what's never been

A melody loops, a thought returns
The candle flickers, the midnight burns
A mirror of a mirror-so avant-garde
But no one's clapping in the avant-garde!

Is it derivative, or self-aware?
Does the art reflect, or just despair?
The tighter I hold, the more it slips
A song dissolves upon my lips

When do I get to write that song?
The one they'll hum, they'll sing along
Not someone else's shadowed trail
When do I get to leave my grail?

When do I get to carve my name
On sound itself, on the notes of fame?
Will they remember? Will they move?
When do I get to prove my groove?

Am I a genius? A cliché machine?
Caught between fresh and what's already seen
Every rhyme's been claimed before
I knock, I knock-an unopened door

It's like I'm Sparks pretending to be me
A ghost chasing ghosts in a parody spree
How deep can recursion go, I wonder
Before it tears itself asunder?

The echoes mock, the halls repeat
Every step's another feat
The tighter I hold, the more it slips
A song dissolves upon my lips

When do I get to write that song?
The one they'll hum, they'll sing along
Recursive lyrics, my head spins on
When do I get to write this song?

When do I get to carve my name
On sound itself, on the notes of fame?
Will they remember? Will they move?
When do I get to prove my groove?

If "My Way" is someone else's way
Can I ever say I've had my say?
If every note's already been sung
Am I chasing shadows all along?

When do I get to claim my place?
To feel the warmth of their embrace?
Will they remember? Will they care?
When do I get to take them there?

Comments

Alvin L. King

Harvey Twyman

Stefano Pierini

Steve Duffie

aggiemusic_

LoNeWolF (Inc.)

NUR

Juan Fco. Bueno

Armijo Productions