It was after the show,
That the Agent approached,
His eyes glinting and flittering with a wondrous glow.

He showed them that he had but a simple and loose contract,
A Retainership that would benefit both parties,
Of which they would agree to.

It was then that the Agent presented them with a significantly larger contract.

It was then that they realized what they were being handed,
Their way to a better life,
A key to a very difficult puzzle,
A planet taken from their shoulders.

They had been discovered.

The anthem ripped out from the Frontman, the Drummer, and the Bassist,
Making a sound larger than should be possible,
Their anthem ripped out through the old amps,
The music revitalizing the old speakers.

The Drummer hammered out powerfully yet precise.
His feet rattling off like machine gun fire,
His bandana tied around his brow.

The Bassist laying down a metronome-like effect to it all,
Notes swaying and dipping to the tune,
Flaring out occasionally to add more gravitas,
Showing he was still his own musician.

The Frontman declaring to the crowd of transgressions committed,
Of battles won and lost,
But also the views from the other side,
That the enemy may be man still.
A story of agony and anger,
Sorrow and Savagery,
With jubilance for the act of violence.
The Frontman's solo soaring high before axe kicking down upon the audience's heads.

The Agent was stunned,
His dropped drink forgotten,
As he reached for the payphone on the wall
The experience in front of him spurring him faster.

The Band continued,
Their sound crescendoing,
Coming to an almighty peak,
Only to begin it's decent to the earth,
Crashing down magnificently,
Down upon a dive bar in the run down part of town.

Why cant you see
I'm in pain
When I say I'm fine
Why can't you tell I'm not
I'm dying inside
No
I am dead
My body
Cold as ice
My eyes
Glued open
Forcing me to see
Everything I never had
Forcing me to relive
The very reason
I am dead

The Agent stood on the corner,
Smelling faintly of bourbon and stale cigarettes,
Loss and despair.

He was a rising star when he had started,
A keen eye for talent and shrewd in business.
But those times had long past,
For all he had now was the bittersweet yearn of nostalgia and just enough in royalties for a dumpy apartment.

A light rain started,
It's cold droplets stinging lightly on the Agent's reddened nose,
Irking him,
Beyond not just having a drink.

The Agent spots his shelter,
A bar just down the street.

As he walks in,
He shakes loose the rain that hadn't clung yet,
And shuffles over to the bar with hands shoved deep in pockets,
He goes and orders a drink.

It is then that he looks over to see a band getting ready in the corner,
It is then that the Frontman belted out the count in.

And the agent dropped his drink.

I peer into the window
I cannot see anything
I pound my fists against the opaque glass, and shout "Let me in"
No one responds
All I can hear is the muffled and confused screams of familiar voices my mind cannot place
I attempt to open the window
It is locked
I desperately punch the window until my knuckles bleed
I scream to the ones on the inside  until my throat is raw
I need to go in
Though the window to my past has closed
Along with those I have left behind
Trapped on the inside

Their first gig,
Where they were headliners as opposed to being the opening act.

It had been a couple of months since they had formed,
And a couple of times they had almost lost their way.
But find their sound they did,
Improving all the while,
They had transformed into a solid opening band,
But no more,
It was their turn to shine.

5 minutes out,
The jitters were settling in,
The Frontman took a swig from his luke warm beer,
Trying to calm his shaky nerves.

The Bassist in the Drummer shared an amused look,
For they had been there before.

It was time,
The stage lights for the place burning bright,
And it is here that they tear into their first song with gusto.
Heartrendingly honest and raw,
For the Frontman it was a releasing of demons,
That held him back in the past,
Their hooks in our protagonist's flesh being ripped free,
The weight being lifted from his shoulders

The Frontman was finally set free.

They traveled together,
The passionate group of three,
They stop at a bar to catch their breath.

The Bassist was quiet quiet and aloof,
His lack of words offset by the weight of each one,
On the rare occasion when he'd throw in his two cents,
His sound was emotional and true,
He spoke without speaking,
With tired eyes,
And a half crooked smile.
He drank a Guinness from a clean pint glass.


Next was the Drummer,
Bobbing his head to a tempo only he could hear,
His sound and energy was like a locomotive engine when he gained momentum,
He would play through a ten minute intermission if let to his own devices.
His eyes were as sharp as a hawk,
Darting to and fro,
His expression of a not-quite-there-frown,
More of a look of constant boredom.
He drank some pale beer that was probably half watered down to start with from a dingy glass.

And at last we have the Man,
Who was now the Frontman,
With a well-worn guitar,
He was dedicated, but haunted by the fear of failure,
But fear can still be used to fuel a sound,
Adding an edge of importance to his words,
His eyes are closed, however, to better concentrate on the sound coming from the old and battered jukebox,
A blank face is his,
Indecipherable to even those who knew him best,
He drank a bottle of something local,
From a bottle,
With just a pinch of salt.

Invisible water is filling up a lung,
constantly drowning in an everyday world.
No words to every song that has ever been sung,
we are born and we die the same; body curled.
Trees grow but leafs fall, a barren way left to display,
Seas and breeze call, it's said that night is the one true love to day.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
With the beat that's in our chest, we're fooled to think that we are tough.
Language was made to communicate, but we quarrel in pettiness.
Still we can all relate to an elegy of emptiness.

There's a dark room in every home,
and each closet holds atleast a single skeleton.
Our feet recognize the path we roam,
and you're not surprised that you fell again.
Puddles gather for us to splash, separating each drop from kin,
I know I'd rather just ask for the water to let me come in.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
We all need to take a rest, our strength is now merely a bluff.
Distance is here for us to jump, but not many know readiness,
everyone has some sort of slump with an elegy of emptiness.

Lives travel on, and many paths become split,
and we all prattle on, only our feelings do we acquit.
Life doesn't stop for any one person, no matter the benefit.
But you listen to a different version, that much you have to admit.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
Each day now is just a test, truth mixed in with the fluff.
Souls were made to connect, but most care only for prettiness,
not realizing the effect and then the elegy of emptiness.

The young man stepped off the bus,
Pack of clothes on his back,
Guitar case in hand.

He decided to forge his own path,
In this place were so many had failed before,
Just another individual in the City of Angels.
His chuck's scraped the pavement as he spun around,
Trying to take it all in.

Quickly he found the city was but gilded, It's thin layer of gold covering the lead core underneath.

It got to the point where the young man had almost given up hope.

But steadfast he marched on, Accumulating like-minded individuals, And soon they stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

Ready to take the World by storm.