A song written for a songwriting group!
lyrics:
It takes two kinds, or at least two minds, to get it right, putting pieces together in tempo, in time, Creating soliloquies in rhythm and rhyme. Desiring to be read between the lines to get it right.

Passing from tongue to tongue, oration dawns in form
Numerous foreign sources or timeworn and pure

It takes a roll of the bones to arouse a certain folk into congregation penitent in the price to pay for such descension.
If these walls could talk they'd name a price before they start exposing every roll of the bones known to arouse a certain folk.

Passing from tongue to tongue, oration dawns in form.
Numerous foreign sources or timeworn and pure
Yeah sure, it's romantic, whispering organic, though often frantic it's never not language.

That's Pretty Week

Take Two

Lyrics:
It starts as a ghost, a pluming host with-holding messages, waltzing around my head just grazing the senses. Inevitable as an end, still I'm not too keen on keening in lament

So it goes, it moves like smoke in a cloudy barroom, making hazy every face you knew, stinging your eyes. Saying "I'm not crying," this here's denial.
Please just scream out a plea. At least, at last you've seen the sadness in living. One petite concept, a part of a whole we're trying to accept.

A time comes along, following the footsteps, to finally catch up. It offers those timeless reminders, that winding down is, doubtless, a few steps away, and that's okay.

Moves Like Smoke

Lyrics:
I don't know where this road of self governance will go, but mistakes will be our own, ending in peace or in blows.
There's a room we all fit into with no choice of being misused. So, on this ground we make our home beneath a ceiling of gold and riches we could only wish to hold.

In the blue light, and red, a people feel misled
This isn't over confidence in saying: a people have lost their faith. We'll come back to harmonies and hymns for now it's dissonance.

We find ourselves in a situation, reminiscing of revolution from years ago. Let them eat cake they say in a manner of ways.
I don't want to raise me fists here
I don't want to step forth in anger
But time after time it's louder than language and this conflicts restricting inhibitions

In the blue light, and red, a people feel misled
This isn't over confidence in saying: a people have lost their faith. We'll come back to harmonies and hymns for now it's dissonance.

Misled

Lyrics:
A recurrent and forgetful night was rolling in. I had my sights set on a barstool and a bottle of gin. Wherefrom the ethereal air, wherefrom the break in concentration, was a gaze I found bearing in and was amidst the throws of conversation.

He spilled his name and I spilled mine
If not my own, a name: I will forget in time

The faint scene grew fainter as a haze developed among the words. Talk of all that was and will be, only surface deep, for certain. Wherefrom a breath growing heavy, wherefrom a voice over the dull roar, was a gaze I found to be mine assigning itself on the door.

He spilled his guts and I spilled mine
Still, keep it light, there's only so much time

Maybe there's no patience here. This art has slipped into the glass of a window frame, I often watched but to partake, I refrain.

He'd spill his drink and I spill mine
In these collisions accidents happen in time
He'd spill into the the street and I, behind, speed on home, my eyes on the time
He'd spill his guts and I spill mine
never seen again, and in sickness this time

I Spill Mine

Lyrics:
When all that can be replaced is lost a sigh resounds that the soul survived the cost.
You'd be surprised at all that lies beyond vision. Surmise this revision: a soul never stands alone.

You may hold the ropes but someone in the doubles has got to keep up
Beware of that devil on your shoulder, pointing at all but the bigger picture. Saying "It doesn't matter, we're all comprised of vices" but if you fight yours I'll be fighting mine sometime.

When all that can be replaced is lost an echoing pounds "a soul has company in the cost"

Week Indulgences

The Soul Has Company (The Bigger Picture)

Lyrics:
Young one pull your eyes from your shoes and straighten out that spine as growing boys should do
You and your colors will resemble the sky as you align with all the toys we provide.
A boy does as he does and absorbs. Of course, I opened the door.

Welcome in those teenage years, a time familiar with lustful looks, prods and jeers
boys and girls the way you dress, if you do not adhere prepare for the worst in us
A boy does as he does to see whats in store. Of course, I opened the door.

You aren't here to make friends. You aren't here to be kind. You are here amongst men, who through the years enveloped your mind.
Now swear the oath and repeat after me to uphold fragile masculinity. To us history was given and through us history rewritten. God was made in our image, we hold the holy seat where all beings are equal, but mostly when it suits me. We aim to maintain hold of the tail, leave those devils in the detail.

The Gentlemen's Club

There's some virtue in vice, right? If so, then I'm no stranger to righteousness. I try to keep off the cusp of malice, with every coin that I've conned from a pocket, every bet I placed like it's my job. I'd like to say that when I lost it wasn't my fault.

You win some, you lose some, find the next table and move on

So it seems I met a gamble like myself. A face that knew the game, the eyes where somewhere else, yet clever. I devised a ploy to win my wealth. You should've seem me and my wit, so cunning. Brandished myself a bow, the fiddle, my opponent and around in circles I went running. 

The beading sweat kept my head cool. Careful moves avoid looking foolish. My darting eyes and faltering hands, a mere distraction. A pounding heart gives me rhythm.

I swear I see a seated statue before me. I swear I'll tear my hair out, I must succeed. A voice that sounds like mine says "double, or nothing." We both knew I couldn't back the bet. Once again, the eyes were set somewhere else and if I lost, my wallet wouldn't be payment.

You win some, you lose some, there's a hint of Hades, I'm sure I knew all along.

So, in summary I can count on seeing another. There's a smile in the mirror, my skill of saving face and who has use for a soul anyway.

You Win Some, You Lose Some

I'm not always there when the glass breaks, but I'm aware of the cracks that streak beneath the skin. Powerful though it may be, this is not an ending scene but a slow start to sewing up the seams.
I'm not always there where the road turns, for the fear of where it's going, that crippling unknowing. Powerful though it may be, this is not an ending scene but a slow start to sewing up the seams.
Speak soft and I will listen, scream out loud and, with your permission, I'll raise my voice or in silence remain in your presence, because I can get lost in my guidance.

A Song for Lack of Words

Some how it feels like I'm learning to walk with every step I take. Inching nearer to a distant future that was once close enough to taste.
Don't get me wrong there's still a long way to go to a destination I may never behold.
This seems like history in reprise, not doomed to repeat, but one never in retreat. Handed a plate rationed with words meant to satiate all of the dreams we were told to believe.
With our tongues we lap up the present but, god damnit, it tastes different. One step forward and two steps back, they say we're on the right track.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

There's some joy in coming home to this little hole, my humble abode. Where awaits my dearest friend. In excitement I misstep and a leg meets a leg. So, I, in jest "Did you move the furniture on me again? I demand recompense!" Some day I fondly recollect.

There's some joy in coming home to this little hole, my abode. Where awaits my dearest friend. It seems uncommon but I must have forgotten the arrangement or our floor and a few extra pieces, maybe more? This time I swear I'm sure "Did you again move the furniture?"

There's some joy in coming home to this hole, my home. Where awaits a friendly face, eyes portray a soul, unconsoled. There's a serious feeling that something is missing, something is slipping. As I search for the words, I hear myself absurd: "Did you move the furniture?"

There's some joy in knowing home, but there's a hole. Where awaits a friendly face, I heard her say "nurse"? But to be certain, I asked with such vigor though I know not the purpose. "Did you move the furniture?"

Mark Nestman