An ode to opposites, and a different way to look at some of the issues that are tearing things apart.  This project is still incomplete.  I estimate it to be about 17-20 tracks when finished.

Opposing Forces

So this is an exploration of what life is for most of us now built on top of stark cadences and composite stories with a refrain of greed, corruption, and control.

More sunshine?

Stark Cadence

Background:  Pregnant wife who is leading a double-life gets arrested for a drug deal with an undercover narcotics officer.  The day after, husband arrives home to an eviction notice on the door, because she's been using bill money for habit support.  Two weeks after that, husband's car is repossessed for the same reason.  Wife goes to rehab for a year, and husband and two other children have to move in with his mother for emotional and financial support.  This song is how he feels about himself.

Lyrics:
You’re just like a unfinished song
 Inside your broken home
 Gathering dust on top of a desk.

Like driving a worn-out car
You never get too far
Something major always breaks.

At night you lay in broken bed
Have shattered dreams in your mixed-up head.
And you never remember a thing.

A thousand works lying undone
That you said were all in fun
But then you toss all night in your sleep.

I wish I could only prove
All the things that you might just do.
If you weren’t convinced that you’re

Third rate.
Hating every mediocre move you make
Halfway done you procrastinate 
Blaming your failures on your fate.

Third rate.
Afraid if you do better, you might break,
Or fall flat on your broken face,
But you’re not gonna quit this time.

Sometimes I try to help you along.
But it’s always the same sad song.
Inspiration fails. It all goes wrong.

A thousand works lying undone
That you said were all in fun
From the truth you always run.

That straight from your broken heart
You get off to a strong false start.
Before you get lost and fall apart.

Nothing’s ever good enough you say,
I think that is the only way
You have to show the world that you’re

Third Rate.
Hating every mediocre move you make.
Halfway done you procrastinate.
Blaming all of your failures on your fate.

Third Rate.
Afraid if you do better you might break.
Or fall flat on your broken face.
But you’re gonna get it done this time.

Third Rate.
 Hating every false start you’ve ever made.
 Almost done you procrastinate.
 By the time you come back it’s way too late.

Afraid if you do better you might break.
Or fall flat on your broken face
But you’re not gonna quit this time.

Third Rate

Legal stuff:
L'amour est Bleu:  French version Composed in 1967 by André Popp.  The French lyrics, (which are not the same as the English Lyrics), were written by Pierre Cour.  An instrumental version composed and performed by Paul Mauriat held the American Billboard #1 spot for five weeks in 1968. 

Love is Blue:  English lyrics were written by Bryan Blackburn.  It has been covered many times by many different artists.

This version:   The composition tips its cap to the musical version composed by Paul Mauriat.  The English lyrics are a heavily edited version of Bryan Blackburn's rendition.  The French lyrics more or less follow the version recorded by Claudine Longet.

I like the way the French lyrics sound with the music, and I also like the depth of the French lyrics.  The English lyrics are darker, so I thought, why not put it all together in an edited form?

I mostly did this one just for fun.  I've always enjoyed this piece.

Lyrics(the English version is a little changed):

Blue, Blue my world is blue
freezing my heart, no warmth without you.
Gray, Gray, the sky is gray.
It only rains since you went away.

Red, Red, my eyes are red
crying for you alone in my bed.
Green, Green my jealous heart.
I doubted you, and now we’re apart.

Chorus:
When we paired, how the bright sun shone.
Then love died.  In the darkness I roam.

Black, Black, the nights I’ve known
longing for you, so lost and alone.
Gone, Gone the love we knew.
Blue is my world.  Now I’m without you.

Chorus:
When we paired, how the bright sun shone.
Then love died.  Now the darkness I roam.



Doux, doux, l'amour est doux	.
Douce est ma vie, ma vie dans tes bras.
Doux, doux, l'amour est doux	.
Douce est ma vie, ma vie près de toi.

Gris, gris, l'amour est gris.
Pleure mon cœur lorsque tu t'en vas.
Gris, gris, le ciel est gris.
Tombe la pluie quand tu n'es plus là.

Chorus:
Comme l'eau, comme l'eau qui court.
Moi, mon cœur court après ton amour.

Bleu, bleu, l'amour est bleu.
Blue is my world when I’m without you.
Gris, gris, le ciel est gris.
It always rains since had to leave.



However, you should know that I don't speak French, so if anything with the French part sounds weird, please tell me.

L'amour Est Bleu (Love is Blue) Cover

This track is an exploration of the mindset of the kinds of people who stormed the Capitol of the United States on 1/06/2021 and all the others who still vex us with their implausible "Alternative Facts."  Opposite "Microcosm," this is a brand new track with a sardonic sense of humor.

Lyrics:

Daddy says that I should go to work.
Welfare checks make you a liberal twerp.
The G-men want to take all of our guns.
And take our cash so we can't stop their run.

Communists and Socialists and Queers
want to tear down all we've had for years.
They're gonna put us white boys in a yoke,
and beat us down until our souls are broke.

Daddy says that I should buy a gun,
and, by God, show them bastards we don't run.
They won't do what we think they should do.
They cain't dissent if they're all cold and blue.

Chorus:
End of the fucking road!

Your thoughts aren't fair and sound.
If you will not back down,
I'll put you end the ground.

You made me do it. X3
Christ what was I thinking?

Momma says "Don't vaccinate your kids."
That's how they plan to turn us into plebs.
Don't you go in public with a mask.
If they say you must, show them your ass.

They're spyin on us through our TV sets,
cellphones, and computers, internet.
If I don't believe what she has said,
She saw it all on Facebook and the Web.

UFOs are studyin our ass.
Chinos want to kill us all at last.
Mexicans are stealing all our jobs.
Of our chicken plants we have been robbed.

Chorus.

Reverend Bill Bernard says, "Go to church."
And give him ten percent of your net worth.
And don't you vote for no damn democrat,
or Jesus Christ will come and stomp your ass.

Liberal, baby-killin pedophiles
will burn our capitol in Satan's pyre.
And Donald Trump is still our President.
Come June, July, September, you'll see it.

The Lord our God will throw them all in hell
and take away the kids of the illegals.
Those in MAGA hats will rise again,
and Donald Trump absolves us of our sins.

Chorus.

Coda
Please don't jail me.
I was lied to.
Please don't tell me
I was lied to.

Aggressive Conspiracy Theory Victim

Another accidental decent new song that fits nicely in the "Opposing Forces" project.  I wrote the lyrics last week, recorded the music last Wednesday, and the vocals today.

This song is about the good people who dismiss themselves when they see something horrible happening to another person.

Lyrics:

Little Gage is in the back of the bus again
The safe seats were all taken.
They spit and mock and slap and they pull his hair.
Even after he starts shaking.

The others lock their eyes on the road ahead.
And ensure that he’s forsaken.
The driver never looks back from the road.
Not for peace, life, or creation.

Chorus:

They’re all trying not to notice.
They don’t want to know this.
“Thank God, this is not me but someone else!”

Bella’s broken down in the locker room
With mean girls all around her.
They’ve cut up all her nice new cool school clothes
That her mother worked so hard for.

The other girls avert their eyes and leave
And do not offer comfort.
When asked later they say they know nothing.
Not sure they even saw her.

Chorus:

They made sure not to notice.
They do not need to know this.
“Thank God, that was not me but someone else!”

Devon has spent six months on the deep blue sea.
He really missed his family.
He drove all night and passed through three more states.
Not caring how he’s driving.

Blue lights appear behind him on the road.
And calmly, he pulls over.
The cops say he’s been drinking all night long.
And pull him from his Rover.

Chorus:
They begin to beat him.
And no one stops to help him.
“Thank God, that isn’t me but someone else!”

Bridge:
Cowardice is violence, too.
How long until they come for you?
What have you gained observing rules?
The enforcers are clearly evil.

Chorus:
You think that you can hold out.
And they won’t call your own out.
Dear God, please save these people from themselves!

Two kids peeking through the upstairs back window
As Nazis march the Jews out.
They force them all to stop and take off their clothes
Then they heard them to a dug out.

They make them face away from the men with guns.
And then they blow their brains out.
The grown-ups in the house all hear the cries.
They pretend that it is all well.

Chorus:
They refuse to notice.
They don’t want to know this.
“Thank God, this isn’t us but someone else!”

You think that you can hold out.
And they won’t call your own out.
Good God, please save your children from themselves.

Craven

This is the first installment of a new project.  This one will focus more on images rather than conclusions.

Lyrics:

On a hill a flower grows
	A pretty, yellow daffodil
Through the socket of a skull
	Where someone’s eye should have been.

All around it’s all the same
	Mounds of bones bleached by the rain.
All these people fell
	To rot where they were slain.

The earth is scarred with deserted roads
	Cracked like dirt baking in the sun.
What were once cars are melted hulks.
	They tried to get away.

Rising high into the gray,
	The crumbling city scape.
Miles of steel and glass and clay
	Just giant tomb stones.

In a dried-up riverbed
	The twisted wreckage of a plane.
The field is scattered with luggage.
	And empty clothing.

No music playing in the streets
	Just the cries of a million ghosts
Or the wind whipping through the streets
	Past burnt-out buildings.

Outtro:

On the west side of a town
Sits an untouched neighborhood
Inside a room all painted pink
A little girl sleeps.

She didn’t die like all the rest.
Her preservation is the best.
Curled upon her little bed
Like only sleeping.

Blond hair splayed out on the pillow
Tears still stain her little face
Clutching a pink, plush teddy bear
Like it could save her.

She was someone’s little baby.
So were all of them.

Post-Apocalypse Panorama

I didn't set out to write a song.  I didn't even have an idea.  I did, however have an idea for a drum cadence based on what you would hear on TV shows in the 1970s when a bad guy was up to no good.  I also wanted to try that with maybe some seventies style funk bass guitar riffage.

Next thing you know, I've got this little ditty.  Honestly, I think that will be the process for this project.  Begin with a cadence, write the music around it, and let the lyrics do what they want.  This is a neat one, (in my humble opinion).

Also, it follows that the next track should be something on the disingenuous nature of American politicians.  The working title of the track will be "Vote for me you stupid bastard."

Lyrics:
Vintage TV Villain

Flags of state 
Flapping in the wind
On the corners of 
A black limousine 

Riding safely
in his motorcade.
His plans are drawn.
He moves his hand.

With the stroke of a pen,
he spills the blood of men,
and from the pulpit,
He spews his hate.

He preaches death
to all he loathes,
and when he’s done,
the room explodes.

Chorus:
He’s a vintage TV villain.
He lets his minions kill them.

He tells the press
what they should say
and what will befall them
if they disobey.

In a spot lit room
somewhere far away
where no one hears
as they cut skin away.

Or you’ll turn your key
to drive yourself home
and in an explosion,
you will be gone.

Or you’ll take a drink
at your favorite bar,
and you’ll die writhing
on the floor.

Chorus:
He’s a vintage TV villain.
Watch him grin just like a demon.

In a secret lab,
he crafts our bane,
and holds us for some kind of
ransom insane.

He takes what he will;
you don’t have a say.
And if you demur,
he’ll blow you away.

Human life
Has no meaning to him.
Babies, women, and kids
are just insects to end.

Should you even try
To get in the way,
your entire family
will surely pay.

Chorus;
He’s a vintage TV Villain.
His henchmen will just kill you.

Smile and know you’re a devil
without a thought to consequence.
Rule by fear not by wisdom,
blinding the world with all your lies.

Sooner or later,
your own people
will kick down your door 
and take you out.

Chorus:
He’s a vintage TV villain.
Someone really needs to kill him.
Before he blows us all to heaven.

Vintage TV Villain

The cadence for this one was inspired by an old marching band cadence.   Lot of different influences went into this production.  At the beginning and the end, I made use of "Yankee Doodle Dandy."  This is an old Folk song, so no copyright issues.

The idea was to take the persona of a political candidate without being partisan and show exactly how far politicians in my country have fallen.  (We thought they were pretty low before),

Lyrics:

Fellow stupid assholes,

I'm just like you.

From humblest beginnings 
Where I grew.
Through stubbornness and study 
I came through.

I'm just like you.

Don't be confused.

By this sweetly made Armani suit.
Or the fortune that my family accrued.
Or the fact that I hail from the finest schools.
Despite the mediocre grades I pooled.

Don't misconstrue. 

Chorus:
Say hoorah for freedom
You fucking slaves.
I won't fix your problems
But I'll make sure I get paid.

For ten bucks a month,
you can help me make my way.
I won't fight your battles,
But I'll get rich off your pain.

Say hoorah for freedom.

You're disabused

Of rights for which our laws say you are due.
My adversary took them all from you.
Sexually harasses children, too.

That's why he'll lose.

He's such a sleaze.

Lets them steal your money while you sleep.
A liar and a scoundrel and a cheat.
Smiles straight to your face pickpocketing.

Do not believe.

Chorus.

Bridge:
My government is not about
Protecting you and taking out
The people who would take it all
Away.

My benefactors emptied out
Your Christmas trees and bank accounts.
And now they're hauling liberty
Away.

Slightly raised your wages
Then they doubled all the prices
And we blamed it on your pitiful 
Pay raise.

Congress with their no bid jobs
Emoluments from Santa Claus
Have turned your weakened minds
The other way.

Chorus.
Outtro.

Last Hoorah

This is another of those tracks that I wrote and recorded in one night.  I finished it this morning.  I'll probably edit it since I just have written it.  I'm sure I'll find some things I don't like about it.

Lyrics:

He don’t care if god exists.
	Wealth is his only religion.
He’s not afraid that he’ll go broke
         In dear old Daddy, he trusts

He’s never struggled once in life
        Doesn’t the stuff grow on trees?.
So he resents the lazy poor.
	They’re not worth a damn anyway.

He won’t commit to loyalty.
	Such notions are made for the weak.
He don’t believe in things like love;
	It’s just two in the bed making three.


Drives his Austin-Martin down the winding roads
He pays no heed to laws.
Every single judge in town belongs to him.
Sits in his office –  high.
In a gaudy penthouse where he fires them through emails.
He don’t care.  
He has never met them. They’ll brilliant every day 
or they must beware.

(Narcissistic bastard, they say that he’s rapacious, they say that he’s immoral, but he’s just mean).
Big money.
He acts like he is your friend.
Big money.
He stabs you with a such nice grin, 

He don’t care if you can’t pay the rent.
	You’ll do it or live in a tent.
He’ll kick you out upon your ear.
	Everything belongs to him.

Inflation doesn’t bother him.
	He’ll have record profits again.
He’ll double prices citing demand.
	And we’ll all face the poor house again.

Insists there’s too many people here.
	Supports population control.
He thinks we need a bloody war.
	To reduce all the surplus poor.

He don’t it’s immoral that financial laws
Are ghost written by him.
Every single Congressman belongs to him;
He made them what they are.
Someone asked him once how he describes his job,
And he smiled shook his head.
“So what do you do?” she said, and through his narrow eyes
He said, “I win.”

(Narcissistic bastard, they say that he’s rapacious, they say that he’s immoral, but he’s just mean).
Big money.
He acts like he is your friend.
Big money.
He stabs you with a such nice grin. 
Big money.
Replacing us all with AI.
Big money.
A reptile who looks like a man.

Big Money

This is the second version of this track.  The first was too long, the vocals were over-cooked.  Had a lot of headspace issues with the vocals and instruments.  The lyrics were a little shoddy in places.

I completely re-worked the entire track, removed the last verse, got rid of the piano, improved the roaring base, freed up some headspace with a lot of EQ work, revised the lyrics, cut down the number of tracks.  I think this one is much less harsh.  In fact, I enjoy listening to it.

Lyrics:

Ad Nauseam:  Movement two:  “The Prosecution of Judge Leeds”

Judge Justice Leeds,
My name is Mr. Daniel William Gray.
You put my baby daughter in her grave
When you sent her with her mother.
	And her child abusing boyfriend.

The gun you see
Pointed at your face will only speak
If the people in the galley all agree
That you’re a crooked bastard.
	Sanctimonious asshole.

Judge Justice Leeds,
How can you go home at night and sleep
With all the vengeful spirits circling?
	Ad Nauseam
		What’s your fucking problem?
		I won’t take it anymore.

Beginning with exhibit A:
The son of Willamina Mae
A black man protesting hate
Gunned down by a young, white ape.

While walking to his car
It was just half a block away.
Judge Leeds catches the case
Quickly it goes the wrong way.

Watched every single ruling bend 
To the young hoodlum’s play,
And at the end of the day,
The killer got a free foul play.

I saw photos on the news
Of Justice Leeds in his college days
Drinking with the killer’s dad.

Justice Leeds,
Did you even lose a moment’s sleep
While fucking up your job so perfectly?
	Ad Nauseam
		You nepotistic asshole.
		I won’t let you anymore.

Her name was Missy D. McKay.
Pre-debutant in every way
Twelve years old and full of grace.
With a perfect, kind little face.

Until a boy of seventeen 
Took innocence away.
A clear-cut case of rape,
But Justice Leeds was on the case.

He took the girl to task.
He shamed her for flirtatious ways.
With six months the boy escaped,
But Judge Leeds was enraged.

That she went out of state
To end her pregnancy by rape.
She hung herself in juvie jail.

What you’ve seen,
Is just a tiny glimpse of his misdeeds
He needs to be humbled desperately.
He’s just a sleazy lawyer.
	He’d sell his fucking mother.

What we need,
A definitive correction, so I plead.
Hear his muted victims and their creed.
Return a guilty verdict.
	He’s not fit for service

Justice Leeds,
How can you go home at night and sleep
Since working all those wicked, evil deeds?
	Ad Nauseam
		I’ll make a chair from your hide.
		You sold Astraea for a whore.

Ad Nauseam 2:  The Prosecution of Judge Leeds Version 2

This was one of the stories missing from the earlier part of the project.  I've done a lot of illuding to the systemic problems renters face.  We'll here's a sardonic tale that just so happens to be true-ish.  Wouldn't want it to be too on the nose.  Besides, I think a composite story shown through composite characters becomes much more profound than a straight tale.

Lyrics:

Five decades old dressed like a teen.
Smiles like a star.  Face like a queen.
Addresses the world through a thin veneer 
Of kind civility.

Bleached blond hair hides deep crow’s feet.
Tight, little skirt veiling cottage cheese.
Badge on her big breast to let us know 
She’s the land lady.

Behind smiling eyes she’s extra mean
Perhaps it’s compassion fatigue.
“Welcome to our buildings where there’s
No tenants allowed.

“Can’t wait to kick you out.”

Chorus:
There’s a special kind of violence in your deeds.
Is this who you really want to be?
Looking at yourself, what do you see?
I see an ugly lizard.

Fat cop standing by my neighbor’s door.
As maintenance guys haul her things outdoors.
Fifty-pound table muscle’s all I see drooping 
toward the floor.

Handle bar mustache above his lip.
Looks like he taped a piece of shit
Just below his nose. I wonder if
he knows.

“It’s just a job; it is what it is.” 

Chorus:
There’s a special kind of violence in your deeds.
Is this who you really want to be?
Looking at yourself, what do you see?
I see a shitty mustache.

My neighbor came home late that night
To find her things sitting outside.
It had all been picked through by the 
other residents.

She was only two weeks late.
They wouldn’t grant another day.
Despite the fact she’d lived here five long years
And built a life.

My eyes locked on a certificate
Given to her little girl.
My son got the same when he was
in the second grade.

Only two weeks late.

There's a special kind of violence in your deeds.
Is this who you really want to be?
Looking at yourself what do you see?

A special kind of violence.

A special kind of violence.

A Special Kind Of Violence

This is likely the last track I will compose and record for the "Stark Cadence" project.  I decided to reinforce a theme touched upon earlier by "Out There" while at the same time returning to the "Bad guy drum cadence" idea I had that led to "Vintage TV Villain" while using the same effects and EQ that I used in "A Special Kind of Violence" with the bass guitar setup that I used for "Last Hoorah."  

The inspiration for the drums came from the beginning of the 1971 movie "Dirty Harry."

This was a fun one to compose.

The story is based on something that really happened last week at one of the schools in town near where I live.  When I say "Based Upon" I mean two women fought in a car rider line and one of the women's children got involved with a weapon.  The rest is all fiction.

Lyrics:
Mercy’s in the car rider line.
Air conditioner is offline.
On her phone just passing the time.
Waiting for her daughter to come outside.

Patience was Miss Mercy’s daughter.
Sadie was her next-door neighbor.
Three weeks ago, invited Patience
To spend the whole night with the neighbor girl.

Mercy’s in the car rider line.
Sweating like a suspect in the lights.
Waiting on Patience to come outside.
When that stupid cunt, Sadie, cut her off.

She jumped out of her car.
And shot around Sadie’s van.
Grasped her by her hair,
And dragged her out by the head.
Ripped open her tee shirt.
Sadie’s boobs flapped and bobbed.
Throttled her to the ground and ground her into the asphalt.

Two weeks ago, she had a visit.
From a snotty social worker.
Claiming she neglected Patience.
While fucked up on Methamphetamines. 

Threw Sadie to the ground 
And began to beat her down.
All the kids gathered round.
As Sadie turned it all around
And grasped Mercy by the hair.
And bashed her in the snout.
Patience disappeared.  Where the fuck did Patience go?

Three weeks ago, she had a conference
With Patience’s old English teacher.
Said that Patience had no mercy.
That all the other kids were terrified.

Mercy clawed Sadie’s chest.
Sadie thrashed Mercy’s head.
Struggling for her life.
Precious had Mercy’s gun
Pointed it at Sadie’s eye.
The cops were on them fast, 
And now they’re all in jail.  Shooting shade with their eyes.

Turns out that it was just the teacher
Who called the stupid social worker.
The cop across from Mercy told her.
She was simply angry with the wrong one.

Mercy lit a dumpster fire.
Sadie should have picked friends better.
Now Mercy has lost her Patience.
Mercy seemed to have no patience.
Perhaps it was because of Mercy.

Dumpster Fire

Ad Nauseam Movement One:

Lyrics:

A garish atrium
shaped like a soaring silo
lacquered marble walls
with declarations of law
chiseled into stone like scripture
bronze statue in the center.

She towers above her peers
billowing, tarnished toga
fastened at the shoulders by sunburst broaches
shining resplendently.
In her hand, she holds balance scales
level with her head.

Blindfold obscures her eyes.
He wonders if Astraea knows
her stewards sold her for a whore.
Daniel stands inside the door.
He is simply one of a thousand people
inside the atrium

coming for his day in court,
but he's been here before.
For what he's come to do the press will curse him
damned forevermore.
Can they all really ignore
the sins of Judge Deeds and his court?

Today Astraea's champion will see justice
served in her temple well.
That's when he moves past the scales
To be weighed like an Egyptian
in hell.

Judge Justice Leeds,
how can you go home at night and sleep
beneath the weight of all of your misdeeds?
Breaking peoples' spirits

Ad Nauseam
While Seldom serving justice.

Ad Nauseam: Movement 1:  "Astraea's Bondage"

I wrote this title a while ago.  I didn't have the toys then that I have now.  This is a new version using a real bass guitar and reworked and reharmonized vocals.  I also brought the drums out more and made it colder and more percussive.

Lyrics:

I thought you'd always be there.
I thought that you would wait for me to. . . .
You always called me a fuck-up,
but then you always forgave me.

I'm addicted to forgiveness.
I never thought supply would end.
You say that you enable me.

      Fuck You!

Sitting in this dark place.
No one ever calling me.
No sounds of children playing.
No one left to keep me warm.
      Fuck you!
I thought you'd always be here.
I thought you'd always be here.
I thought you'd always be there.
I thought you'd always be there.
I always thought you'd be here.
I always thought you'd be there.
Why couldn't you just wait for me?

I thought you'd always be here.

This song was written in 1969 by Robbie Robertson of a group called, "The Band."

Some have called this title racist, but if you're paying attention, it's not.  It could be about any war at any time from the perspective of the vanquished soldiers.

I like this song because it's a fantastic example of a dramatic monologue.  Just to be safe, though, I reworked some of the lyrics to adjust the speaker's position.

Lyrics:

Virgil Cain is the name
And I served on the Danville Train.
'Till Stoneman's cavalry came, 
and they tore up the tracks again.

In the winter of '65,
we were hungry, just barely alive.
By May the 10th Richmond had fell.
It's a time, I remember, oh so well.

The night they drove Old Dixie down,
and all the bells were ringing.
The night they drove Old Dixie down,
and all the people were singing.

They went, "Nah, na-na-nah-na-nah Nah Nah na-Nah na-Nah na-Nah Nah."

Back with my wife in Tennessee.
One day she called to me.
"Hey Virgil, quick come see.
"There goes Robert E. Lee."

Got no beef with colored skin.
I'm the same thing as any one of them.
But blue burned my house and beat my wife.
I wouldn't be worth a potter's damn if I didn't fight.

The night they drove Old Dixie down.
And all the bells were ringing.
The night they drove Old Dixie down,
and all the people were singing.

They went, "Nah, na-na-nah-na-nah Nah Nah na-Nah na-Nah na-Nah Nah."

Like my father before me,
I will work the land.
Like my brother above me,
who took his rebel stand.

He was just eighteen, proud and brave,
but a Yankee laid him in his grave.
I swear by the mud beneath my feet,
you can't raise a Cain back up when he's in defeat.

The night they mowed my brother down,
all the bells were ringing.
The night they beat my baby down,
The blue bellies were singing. 
They went, 
 "Nah, na-na-nah-na-nah Nah Nah na-Nah na-Nah na-Nah Nah."

The night they drove Old Dixie down.
And all the bells were ringing.
The night they drove Old Dixie down,
and all the people were singing.

They went, "Nah, na-na-nah-na-nah Nah Nah na-Nah na-Nah na-Nah Nah."

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down (cover)

This is a new song.  Still experimenting with the Folk/Rhythm/Blues idea.  I think this one is much closer.

This song is not about any family in particular.  It's a tableau of several of them -- a montage that creates a "State of things" kind of message.

This will be the beginning of a new project.  I want to go back to the roots of music.  Music used to be a performance art -- a kind of theatre, and now it's more of a production comprised of cookie-cutter songs, and most of the titles are about how mad someone is at someone or something, sex, or how sad a person is, or how wonderful the speaker is.  The art can be much more impactful.  

I want to explore deeper stuff.  Real people stuff.  The human experience.

I have a variety of ideas for the stories I want to show.  Some of them will be. . . .  Well, pull up a chair.  

The music will be as simple or as complex as it needs to be.  The songs will be story-driven and vocal-based.  Expect dramatic monologues, and third person meditations on a persona.  All of it will be about emotion and performance rather than stealing the most popular beat right now and overcooking the autotune.

There's a reason folk songs like "Greensleeves," "Lord Rendall," and many others are still around after hundreds of years.  I want to find a way to do that.

Lyrics:

Six years old. He goes to school
where he learns his friends are
better than he is.
They’re smarter than he is.

At the doctor’s office, he hears
that his mind’s divergent.
Never quite fit in.
Never will fit in.

When at home he sees his brother.
The parents dote on him,
but never notice him.

And all he really wants is to normal.
No one loves a snowflake.

Big brother focuses on school,
Because he’s not a boy.
He’s different than his friends;
There’s something wrong with him.

At home, he must avoid his father;
Daddy don’t like queers.
Divergent and he’s damned.
A scourge upon the land.

Mom just thinks he should just stay quiet.
It’s all just a phase.
Just be somebody else.
Whitewash so they can’t tell.

And all he really wants is to be normal.
No one loves a snowflake.

Sitting at the dinner table
“Can someone pass the salt?”
But they don’t hear because they’re 
Surfing through their cell phones.

“Can someone see me please?”
But they won’t leave their heads
long enough to see
they’re burning down their family.

The dog lays his head on the floor
He just wants a plate 
And a spot among his people
At the table.

And here I sit beside you all alone.
Lost inside these struggles of my own.
And no one sees the snowflake.

The Snowflake

After "Sunshine Girl," I felt as though this project seriously needed some comic relief.  I cruising YouTube, and came across video of situations in which someone abused a restaurant employee, (fucked around and found out).

This snowflake turned out decently.

Lyrics:

All I said was that my sandwich was cold
Picked it up, and I started throw.
Thunder clapped behind her unibrow
Tore off her apron, and she threw down.

Charged like a boar while gnashing her tooth.
Crashed into me flipping over the booth.

And I screamed “AAAAAHHHH”

Just a
Trailer Park whore on a torn, tweed couch
Sucking crack rock until she passes out
Future hells angels playing in the road.
As her loving big brother pokes her booty hole.

And she screams “AAAAAHHHH.”

The cook from the kitchen finally pulled us apart
She grabbed a butcher knife and swung a wicked ark.
The cops showed up and put her in their car.
Found that she was sipping brandy from a mason jar.

And they screamed “NNNNOOO!”

Once the smoke had cleared, I felt that I had been fucked
By an eighteen-wheeler and a pickup truck.
The cop rolled his eyes and said, “You stupid prick,
“Don’t present your ass when someone’s gonna kick.”

I Got My Ass Kicked By A Truck Stop Waitress

This is a remake of a track I wrote for Stark Cadence.  The original title was "Universal Chorus."  The first version was too stripped-down, and the mood was off.  This one is much better.

I wrote this song on a napkin at a Waffle House.  The idea was to take the chorus from "Fun with Stickers," change the pronouns and use it to tell a different story.  I'm satisfied.

Lyrics:

He just wants to love.
And feel the fullness in his chest.
He wants to feel
That he belongs.
He shouldn’t have to feel so ugly.
He wants love.
He wants to love.
He wants to love and not be afraid.

She just wants to live,
And figure out just who she is here
Not to feel
she must commit
Before she knows that she is safe with him.
To grow.
And be a friend.
And not to move until she is sure.

They want to be them
Without the fear of hateful judgement.
And to feel like they belong.
They shouldn’t have to feel perverted.
And to love.
And be approved.
They want to love and just be them.

He just wants to love.
And feel that he is somehow worthy.
And to feel* that he belongs,
He shouldn’t have to feel so lonely.
He wants love*; he wants to love.
He wants to love and not be dismissed.

She just wants to live
And have a roof above her head.
She wants to feel
like she is free.
She shouldn’t have to feel she owes him.
And to choose.
She wants to live.
She wants to sleep and be left alone.

I just want to live.
I want to love – feel like I belong
Not have to fight* every fucking day.
I shouldn’t have to feel so threatened,
With my time,
I want to love.
I want to love without being prey.

We just want to live 
We want to love and not be afraid.
But we never will.
We don’t understand.
We’re all the same, so we keep on fighting.

The Perpetual Lament

Greensleeves is a 15th century English Folksong.  It has a very long and very interesting history.  Some suppose that it was commissioned by Henry VIII for Ann Boleyn, but most historians disregard that as a little too good to be true.  However, I do have to note that King Henry VIII had a "famous contralto singing voice."

At some point a new version of the work was created to celebrate the birth of Christ, but this one follows the original a little closer.

My version is a mishmash of various verses over the years.  I've modernized the language, and edited the end.  The arrangement is mine.

Greensleeves

Lyrics:

You can’t erase what you have done to me.
Forgiveness is a pretty thought,
But it has never meant anything.
But I can still find a way to help you
It doesn’t cost me a thing.

Exhorting my shattered love reach out again.
All those promises you made to me
Will never draw faith again.
All our covenants are shattered
But I can still be your friend.

And you don’t have to reach with love’s embrace.
That seal long since fell apart
And can’t be forged again.
The only power that ever mattered
Is the love that still remains.

Long lost former friends please seek me out.
I don’t care if we left in ire
Or a hollow Irish goodbye.
How it failed doesn’t really matter
Just the memories we left behind.

If you ever need me, I’ll be here.
Though we may never see eye to eye again
I can still be your friend.
I am never too angry to lend a hand
Or let a good thing die.
Stubbornness and Pride only ruins lives and everything that matters.
If we can just agree to disagree, we can end the grief and have everything again.
People are much better when together and not apart.
The souls that grace us are the threads that make the tapestries of our lives.
I don’t mind apologizing if you feel that I have wronged you.
Lacking neither strength nor humility, I can take the blame for all of it.

Begging my estranged sons, come back to me. . . .

Bygones

I don't actually have a band, so the way I do this kind of thing:  I record each instrument on a separate track, record the backup vocals all the way through on separate tracks, and perform the lead vocals and at least one of the guitar parts while streaming.  This one turned out respectful of the original.

Man In the Tree (Livestream audio)

This is a semi-cover of a very old song written in 1939, and first copyrighted by Jimmie Davis.  My version is much darker and slightly rewritten.

You Were My Sunshine (Cover)

New Track:  I wrote this song accidentally.  My kid, Gage, asked me how you write a song when you have no ideas, and I responded, "You do the drums and the beat first, and then you just build the music and lyrics around it."  He didn't seem sold on the idea, so i decided to show him.  A few hours later. . . .  

Instruments:  Ducimer, Clean compressor guitar (Gretsch), Yamaha Bass, Modified drum set.  Version 2:  the chorus seemed a little empty, so I added another track to make it pop a little.

Lyrics:

Living in an old motel
Charging two thirds of his pay
On what he makes he needn’t 
bother searching for apartments.

Diapers, formula, and gas
And insurance for his car 
He can’t afford to buy a drink
When he is thirsty.

The women say he’s out of hand;
“You can’t raise kids if you’re a man.
“You need a wife or you won’t even
“Know where your socks are.”

He asked the government for help.
They looked at him like he was crazy.
“You’re a man, and you are white.
“Just go ask your daddy.” 

Chorus 1:
That’s about the time he disengaged, 
and he said, “You just want to melt me down,
“And pour me into a little mold.
And blame it on me because I am broke.
As my boss gets his second house.”

“It seems our social safety net is made
“To keep us dogs fighting over rancid meat.
“Cowering at our master’s feet.
“They want to keep us small and weak
“And kissing their ornate rings,
“But I’m not sold.”

Jazzy wasted seven years
Working sixty hours a week
While her toddlers cut their teeth
In a rundown daycare.

She watched as each successive year
Her rent increased by leaps and bounds
While her wages only rose by change
Per hour.

She threw herself into her work
She learned everything she could
By the end of it she did most 
Of her boss’s job.

At her last review, she glared
As the HR person stared, 
And with fanfare he declared 
A seventeen-cent raise.

Chorus 2:
That’s precisely when she disengaged.
And she said, “I've traded time I can't get back. 
“Memories with my kids that I'll always lack.
“You put a heavy load on my back,
“In a hall full of locked-tight doors. 

"It seems our meritocracy has failed.
“We’re all are rats chasing cheese that we won’t receive.
“While fat boys feed their rapacious greed.
“I can’t meet all my childrens’ needs,
“And you get the fancy cars, but I not sold.”

“Go.”

I think the time has come to disengage
We’ve all been sucker punched by the ruling class.
Lined up and told to kiss their ass,
But you don’t have to play their game
You can forge your own way and

Disengage.
Disengage.


Disengage

This song was written by Paul McCartney in 1968.  Credits McCartney/Lennon.  This was a livestream performance.  I composed a simple drum part, dubbed the guitar part and sang performing with the bass.

Lady Madonna (Beatles cover)

Lyrics: When I was whole,
I was so unstoppable.
With you, I soared into the blue
Like the lion of the sky.

When we were one,
We were both undeniable.
Two flames that mingle in the night
To become a single light.

Before I knew your spirit,
You always seemed so beautiful.
The twinkle in your eye became
The spark that lit my pyre.

What have you done?
What have you done?
I thought you said you were the one.
What have you done?
What have you done?
What have you done?

A better dream broken by a million lashes.
Addled by a thousand cuts and crashes.
I am nothing more than a mound of ashes.
But I will be reborn.

What have you done?
What have you done?
You swore you’d always be the one.
What have you done?
What have you done?
What have you done to me?

Upon my second coming,
I found myself so all alone.
Just me against the austere world
And the dangers of the sky.

That’s when I found you.
A tower of strength unflappable.
A hardness coined from molten pain
But you didn’t come to save me.

What have you done?
Are you insane?
Reached out for love. You brought the pain.
What have you done?
What have you done?
What have you done?

Another life razed by a million lashes.
Spoiled by a thousand cuts and crashes.
I have been reduced to a mound of ashes,
But I will be reborn.

What have you done?
What have you done?
I couldn’t make you be the one.
What have you done?
What have you done?
What have you done to you?

With my third remaking
I was so hateful and afraid.
I ruled the sky with bloody claws.
I laid everything to waste.

But then you saw me 
Wanted to take away the fret.
My broken heart could meld no trust,
And I saw you as a threat.

What have I done?
What have I done?
I didn’t know you were the one.
What have I done?
What have I done?
What have I done?

I will make a nest composed of down and thatches
Perch and stand guard above your mound of ashes.
I ripped you apart with a thousand slashes,
But you will be reborn.

What have I done?
What have I done?
I don’t deserve to be the one.
What have I done?
What have I done?
What have I done to you?

What have we done?
Are we insane?
We asked for love.  We offered pain.
What have we done?
What have we done?
What have we done?

We spend our lives painting using our own blood.
All the while cooking in our own flames.
We build ourselves anew from the pile of ash
And then we’re born again.

What have I done?
Am I insane?
Created pain by avoiding pain.
What have I done?
What have I done?
What have I done to me?


Flight of the Firebird

My fifteen-year-old wrote this song.  I helped him with just a little tweaking using my DAW.

Suicide Assistant

Track 16 of the Melatonin Montage Project version 2.  Brought out the vocals.  Added to the chorus.  Version 3: Made the sound a little more crisp.  Changed the vocals from stereo to mono.  Added tube compressors.  Changed the drum sound with a little EQ work removed some effects.

I Always Thought You'd Be Here

No cheating here.  This is just straight up playing the Les Paul and singing.  No auto tune.  No goofing around.

Sleepwalking Accoustic

Background:  Pregnant wife gets arrested for a drug deal with an undercover narcotics officer and sent to drug court.  After a short period of time, she fails multiple drug screens without admitting, and they send her to rehab for a year.  The husband oscillates between supporting her and distancing himself, and he's taken both of the children.  Quickly, she realizes that rehab is her last chance.  If she wipes out, she'll be kicked out of Drug court and sentenced to at least two years of prison in which case she will most certainly lose her children including the unborn child and her husband.  This song is about her forced acceptance and all of the fear surrounding it from her perspective.

Lyrics:

I woke up this morning
must've stared at my clothes for an hour.
Don't know what I was thinking of.

I got to group late.
They were really fake.
Just for today, I will be grateful.

I started counseling
asked how long I would have to stay
three-hundred sixty-four more days
        Or

Chorus 1:
Twelve steps 'till I go home.
Will it be a brand new dawn
or just another sunset?

In the morning when I rise,
will I see the world through brand new eyes,
or will I spot the past and run?

So many things that can go wrong,
and I feel so all alone.
Will I fail and fade?

I called you on the phone.
It was a short, intense conversation,
and then I hung up on you.

I asked to speak with the kids,
but they were all in bed.
Just for today, I will be gracious.

That's when I screamed at you
when what I wanted to do
just tell you how much I have missed you.

Chorus two:
I wonder if you will abide
all the twisted cruel lies
that I forced on you.

Was it ever really love
or just drug-induced euphoria
That let me stay with you?

In twelve steps when I come home, 
will I be there all alone
or will you wait for me?

I started step work,
and it really hurt.
Don't know how this could ever help me.

I wrote my life line.
Disclosed the things that I try to hide.
Just for today, I will be honest.

Got stuck on step three,
because I don't believe.
Take a look at me and say God loves me.
         I dare you.

Chorus three:

Is this really healing me?
Does the truth really set you free
or just break more things?

I wonder if I ever can
make amends for all the things I've been,
or will they walk on me.

These twelve steps will bring me home,
so I guess they can't be wrong.
I have to play along.

Was it ever really love
or just drug-induced euphoria
that let me stay with you?

In twelve steps when I come home,
will I be there all alone,
or will you give me another chance?

Twelve Steps

If I had to describe the style of this track, I'd call it 9 inch Floyd Beatle tool.

This is the third version.  The first version had a dull sound.  Did some EQ work, toned back some of the echo, changed the guitar.  Then I toned back the background vocals, and cleaned up the baritone vocals.  I like it.  It's like Pink Floyd mixed with a lot of extra darkness and the harshness of NIN, and the likability of the Beatles.  This is persona 1 in Melatonin Montage -- the addicted spouse.  It's a slower and deeper version of DOC.

I Have A Cure

This is a new song.  We're already up to version 2:  Did some mastering cleaned up some of the audio, and fixed some of the vocals.  I like the story I found in this one.  As for the music, this is what would happen if Metallica made sweet musical love with The Beatles.  Version 3: toned down the overpowering distort guitars and cleaned a few things up.  Brought out the vocals in the verses.  Pulled the flute and clarinet parts back. (wanted those parts to be quiet).

Lyrics:

If you want to save someone from something,
I just wanted to save someone from something.
If you want to save someone from something,
Save them from yourself.

I was a sickly boy.
From ages two through eight, locked down inside my room.
I didn't have a friend.
All I ever did was sit and stare at my TV.

Binged Andy Griffith Shows.
And early Batman made in the 1960s.
That's how I learned the world
And picked my place within it like my father thought I should.

Learned the three types of men.
The heroes and the villains and the victims of their war.
I wanted to be Batman.
Though it's not so simple, I decided to do it.

Chrous:
I didn't mean it.
This is not who I am.
Please, please just listen to me.
I made a mistake.

I grew up big and strong.
I played a lot of sports, and I learned how to fight them off.
I learned to shoot a gun
nailing moving targets like the world was standing still.

Then I put on a badge
And went into the world to fight the monsters and their ilk.
Stare in the dark too long,
It worms its way inside you.  You become what you find ill.

I cannot meet a man
without looking for all the bad things that he has inside.
Somewhere along the way,
The line between the good and bad became very muddy.

Chorus.

Just a short traffic stop.
He had a broken tail light and I stopped to let him know.
Told me he had a gun
nestled in the console by his registration.

Said he should watch his hands.
"Don't go for that console or this stop could turn real bad."
Said that he had to show me
Reaching for the console, so I did what I had to.

Chorus

Outtro:
If you want to save someone from something. . . .
I just wanted to save someone from something.
If you want to save someone from something,
Save them from yourself.

Blue Tragedy

This is a brand new song.  I've had the idea for a minute, but I found a concept I liked this past weekend.  This one may change a bit.  This is definitely the crux of the "Opposing Forces" idea, and the other end of the title "Blue Tragedy."  As for the style, it's a mixture of a lot of sixties and seventies styles of music.  Let me know what you think as this one is a little experimental.  Version 2: Balanced some stuff.  Reworked some of the vocals.  I noticed missed notes and some areas that were slightly off tempo, and I fixed a lot of that.  Version 3: Cymbal crashes were distorting the sound.  Pulled that back -- a lot.  Brought out the chorus Crunch guitar a little more.  Made some more room.

Lyrics:

Intro:
The devil's glee.
The angels weep.
Great Father looks down.
His bearing screams:

"These are my children.  They're not untermenschen!
"No!
"They were never meant to be controlled."

Little boy with mocha skin and eyes full of dawn.
When he grows up he wants to change the whole world.
He declares in blue crayon.

He grew and he grew until he rose above the crowd.
A smile that lit the sky and brought the walls down.
Ne'er wore a frown.

As he was driving back home from a small town,
got shot in a traffic stop for having a gun.
Court date disallowed.

"These are my children.  They're not untermenschen!
"No!
"And my progeny won't let it go!"

In an attic lives a scared, little girl
Inside she hides from all the hate in the world.
Never coming unfurled.

Her journal spins a brilliant quilt full of whorl.
When she grows up, she wants to show the whole world.
She presents with a twirl.

A pack of bastards ruined what might have been.
Off to camps with her whole family and friends.
Never made amends.

"These are my children; they're not untermenschen.
"No!
"And your hatred will swallow you whole."

Hispanic man who lost his life's sweet amor.
Raising kids where you can die if you're poor.
He decides he wants more.

They wear out their shoes searching far heretofore.
To the states where they might thrive forevermore.
Though despised and abhorred.

Crossing the border, they are seen by the boars.
The father runs but he is shot in the gourd.
And the kids beaten sore.

"This was our father.  He wasn't subhuman!
"No!
"And our fury will dig you a hole!"

Great father looks down:

"These are my children; they're not untermenschen!
"No!
"I will return and my wrath you'll behold!"

Coda:
And the blood cries up from the ground:
"How long will you let it go?"
It's your blood too, didn't you know?
"How long will you let it go?
"How long will you let it go?"

Untermenschen

This is how it sounds after I've played it this way about a hundred times.  This is one of the most meditative songs I've written, and though it's fairly long, I never notice when I play it.  It's about a man who, in a moment of weakness did something very wrong, and died for it.  This version is just me and a guitar.  No bullshit.

The Man In The Tree Solo Acoustic

This is a new version of an old song.  Rather than make "The Martyr" eight minutes long, I decided to do the intro as the intro to the Opposing Forces project, and pick up the end of the song as the outro for the project.  This is a brand new part of the song.  Musically and lyrically I intended it to describe in a realistic and secular way the prayer at the Garden of Gethsemene, just before the arrest of the man commonly known as Jesus of Nazareth.  It was fun doing a musical story like this without writing a hymn.

From Gethsemane Part One:   (Opposing Forces Intro)

Part two and the last track of "Opposing Forces."  All of this is new, and will probably see a lot of changes.

From Gethsemane (Part Two:   Opposing Forces Outtro)

This song is the intended opposite of "Corporate Slave."  It's a brand new song that takes the perspective of the American oligarchy which has been totally taking advantage of not just citizens of The United States but everyone in the world who is not them while being overtly priggish -- beating the personal responsibility pulpit -- and covertly greedy and gratuitously opportunistic.  (Actually, it's a little nicer than that).  This is a brand new song.  V2:  brought out the guitars and bass a bit more.  Found the wig-wagging vocals a little distracting, so I lessened the level of the effect.  Next, I'll probably re-work some of the bass part, and get rid of one area in particular that's a little rough.

Revision 3:  Changed the clean guitar to stereo.  Removed some of the plugins that overloaded the sound.   Re-recorded some of the bass parts and added a new part in one of the bridges to deepen the sound.

Lyrics:

Lazy, little brats wanting something for nothing.
All day long sitting on their asses
Now they want whine I don’t pay enough money.
They want to steal my gold.

Work myself to death building this sprawling empire.
Rode this desk twenty hours a week.
Barely had the time to improve my golf game.
And they say I’m cold.

Pissy liberal babies claim that I’m too wealthy.
I robbed the poor and gave it all to me.
Flaccid commie bastards all can lick my nut sack.
This land belongs to me!

I’m the boss!

Chorus:
What this world really needs
Is someone who will lead
Take the reins and proceed
To make the unwashed masses think like me.

Someone like me.

Idle sissies cry about the twelve-hour workday.
Then they moan about their wage.
They say it’s not enough to support their families.
Don’t fuck if you can’t pay.

They just wanna have their cake and then eat it.
I’ll Automate the whole goddamn thing.
You wanna be rich, you should start your own business.
Then you’ll fathom me.

Some may say my position’s immoral.
But Moral men go broke and die.
That is why I own a giant yacht and two mansions.
The means are justified.

I’m the boss!

Chorus.

My father built this fortune.
His favorite only child.
Left us to our mother.
It’s all that I have left of him.

I’ll never be that perfect.
But I won’t let it slip away.
It’s me against the world.
And me against the working class.

You can’t fight me I’m city hall! x4

I’m the boss.

I own you.
I own me.
I own both political parties.

The Boss

This is yet another brand new song.  It turned out to be a little more than I envisioned.  It's not filler.  In fact. . . .  Well, I like it anyway.  The style is a little different than some of the more recent stuff.  I would call this blues Rock.  My influence for this type of genre would be Blues Traveler, Counting Crows, Black Crowes . . . any number of others.  This is a first version, so I'm sure some of it may change later after I've listened to it a few thousand times.

Lyrics:

I’ll bet I know how I must look to you.                                          
I’ll bet I know how I must look to you.

                       
Hair exploding from my head
Like frayed copper wire.
Ragged Clothes bare of thread.
And ten years out of style.

Every time you step out your door
And look across the road,
I’m sitting on my porch swing here
And smoking like a stove.

I’ll bet I know how I must look to you.
I bet you haven’t thought how you must look to me.

I saw your son at the bus stop yesterday.
With a mean Frozen grin on his face.
		Kids in colorful winter coats
		All except for one.

		He wears a thin cloth jacket stained and frayed.
		His hair a tangled and oily disarray. 
		He said nothing to anyone.
		Stood in the rain and stared.

You might know him.  He lives just up the street.
In the house with the yard that’s gone to seed.
His mother left them two months ago
For better company.

Your boy smacked him across the face
He fell with a heavy thud.
Dumped the contents of his bag
And ground it in the mud.

This boy is me
Your son is just like you.

Ch:
Microcosm of humanity
On our little street, well
No one’s good but we’re not bad.
No one’s happy but some are sad.

All have eyes trained to the sky, and we’re screaming,  Ah!
“Please don’t hate me I’m not a saint.
“I’m just fumbling through my days.”
“Trying not to screw this up and failing.”

The little white house across the road
Sitting facing me.
An older lady once lived alone.
She was sixty-three.

Never saw any visitors there
Not even holidays.
About eleven years ago.
She up and passed away.

That brick house to the left just there
With Trump signs in the yard.
Lives a preacher who drives a truck.
His name is Bill Bernard.

He spends all his time on the road
His wife just sits at home
Many men come to run the train
The moment he is gone.

No one tells him
Hell, not even me.

Chorus 2


I’ll bet I know what you must think of me.
I’m not the fool you seem to think I am.
I’m not the fool you seem to think I am.

This is closer than I ever want to be.
Don’t give a damn what you must think of me.

Matt Cantrell

Pinned to spotlight

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