Saw the weakness of my generation. 
All enjoying a bottle or two.
And who quickly progressed from those dancing young nights and then searched till their minds were shot through.
Who are sad that they're still by the ocean? But why would that be? 
Who's castles of sand crumbled right in their hands as they entered into their thirties?
Oh, these are your days and this is your life.
Pitied the best minds of his generation.
And watched as they struggled to breathe.
Who has seen them descend into madness?
Stressed out from the ordinary.
Who is glad that he lives by the ocean?
Why wouldn't he be?
Who with just a bit more education. 
Could of turned into a somebody.
Oh, these are your days and this is your life.
Your heads gone to pieces.
Give yourself a break and make a new start.
Who is sat with little miss Moffat.
Glugging down all her peaches and cream.
Who is moving on to bottles of vodka?
To get to that place more quickly. 
Who feels sad as she looks at the ocean?
And why would that be?
Who has wasted the rest and is failing the test?
Passing out never falling to sleep 
Oh, these are your days and this is your life.
So don't worry too much.
Never stood a chance right from the start.
Cos nobody told yas.
Starting drinking at Twelve. 
What did you expect?
Your heads gone to peices.
Give yourself a break and make a new start.
Before you start fading away.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness starving hysterical naked
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake light tragedy among the scholars of war
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley death or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares alcohol and cock and endless balls
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement.


Madness, Starving, Hysterical, Naked.

Howl At Nowt

Hello to everyone!

Here in Soundcloud i publish dark and mysterious alternative rock and classical music that has been influenced by metal music. I am influenced by HIM, Nightwish and classical music. I have also published rap and electronic music. You can also find my songs from Youtube. Here’s link to my Youtube chanel: https://youtube.com/channel/UC3cM6ETf-CesfZn-3jmZ5wA.

Hopefully you will enjoy my music. 
Yours
The fallen archangel

Bigfoot is a friend of mine. We like to make music and share it with our friends. See our YouTube channel and A Journal of Nonsense for more fun.

here's some pictures of me that turned into songs I hope you have a pleasant meeting with them.

only the song is left
and I am gone

the burnt candles and the notebooks
and we move on

dragging our memories along
when we move from house to house

longing for a clean slate
but we can't change what's past

everybody knows

only the song is left
and I am gone

sometimes all I know to do
is follow you along

It is easy to mistake
right now for a song

when only the trace is left
and the life is gone 


Music from Austria - from
my soul to the world. 💙

https://www.facebook.com/marieistwach
instagram: _marieistwach_

https://youtube.com/channel/UCTYTdFAiNWlkedzF4gx7y4g

Repost Submission:
bit.ly/organic_support

These Guitars Say Sorry is the banner for a diverse range of artists, from UK singer-songwriter These Guitars Say Sorry to classical composer Jeremias Langsämmer along with his ensemble, Icelandic post-rock band Laxá with the Heima Kvartett, ambient artist Siegfried Jünger, and Doom Jazz ensemble The Dark Messiahs. Founded by Jez Stephen, who incepted all the projects, the label has released over 30 albums, crafting a unique sonic identity across genres.

Since 2021, These Guitars Say Sorry has released a track every week, later compiling them into albums available on all major platforms. Explore the catalog on Bandcamp: https://theseguitarssaysorry.bandcamp.com/ and support the work for as little as $1 a month on Patreon: www.patreon.com/tgss.

Better known as "Unbekannter Interpret" (or "Unknown Artist"), we've been a very active and successful part of the music industry in the last decades. However, as author of millions of songs and albums, we became tired and also confused about our artistic position. So, we needed a restart, and here we are, Interpret Unbekannt, making music for nothing but with a lot of passion!

We are the music makers. We are the dreamers of dreams.





Howl At Nowt

SpukSchreibMaschine