Ashes pushed in tight
against the pressure of us;
Our loose breath and words.

We are purveyors,
headcutters, jazzists, brawlers,
writers and killers.

We meet here to live.
We scream and bang instruments.
We come here to die.

Cutting our hair and
writing on the walls, dressing
immaculately.

Trying to keep our
chins above our sweat, rising
an inch a minute.

We come here to be
baptized in this river of
sin, made unholy

before the weekday
pulls us out of tantrum, to
mediocrity.

the hard part about loving musicians
is that they get stuck in your head
sometimes in a melody
and sometimes in a memory.

Are you a cat or bird,
devil or saint?
Villain and victim, dichotic romantic,
bruised and beaten, ostracised.
Bruised and beaten, demonised.
A willow bending against cruel fashion's wind.

A thousand storms of impotent hate,
jealousies and malignant complaints.
Rain like sonnets before the deaf!
As your gifts are pearl before swine.

And yet thy brow is regal still.
The profile of a demon prince -
no matter what shape taketh the face.
Be thou Quasimodo or Adonis by fate.
Whose smile has lit a thousand candles
in thankless, bitter hearts,
and fires in the hearths of freaks
who need but a spark to break the leash.

Or art thou Prince of Cats?
Yearning for the freedom to roam, to hunt.
Seeking pleasure, his mistresses pats.
The enemy of closed doors and cold paws.

Or could thou be a bird?
Clipped wings, a gilded cage,
whose song can only go so far.
If not let to glide into the night, to rise,
to greet the dawn with bleary, satisfied eyes.
Of one who has been given the chance to soar!
Or else to wilt, and yowl no more.

Requiem for a dream
Unhinged upon the seams
Glimmer, glam & gleam
But he
"Don't know what it means"
He shone so bright
Gave all his light
He fell from heavens grace.

Its dark inside this place.
He only sees her face.
a heart not lost;
Misplaced.

It almost feels as if this industry
Relies on our ignorance, just to survive.
This new and impressionable generation
Brainwashed by toxic, destructive lies.
Young women pressured to pump up their lips
**** in their stomachs, push up their "****"
Only to return home, exhausted and drained
From all the pretence to keep up that façade

Energy that could be used elsewhere
Pursuing their dreams, showing someone they care;
Is our relevance determined by the size of our behind?
'Cause at least that's what the media pumps into our minds-
Better get weave, but look natural too...
Better have perfect eyebrows, maybe get them tattooed...
Better keep them legs shaved, bleach that upper lip...
Better make that skin spotless, edit those pics...
Go hit the gym girl, not for your health,
But to find that "good" man to hand over his wealth.
Oh, and don't get too comfortable in your own skin,
Don't try to stand out, just try to fit in.
Don't practise self-love, don't think you're "too nice"
The men they don't like it, best take their advice.
Just shrink yourself down and do as you're told
'Cause the man has no place for a woman too bold.

What are these messages we're teaching, man?
The power of music is in the wrong hands.
Whatever happened to respecting the art?
Singing songs to empower, reach out to the heart?
Not to gloat, or to sneer, or put others to shame
Or get back at that ex without using their name -

Yes it's freedom of expression, but there are better ways to do it;
Maybe use your pain to help another soul get through it.
Maybe use your spotlight to teach these younger souls
Not to beat themselves up for the things they can't control.
Preaching "do as you wish, just be mindful of others
Branded or not, dress however you feel
Stay true to your heart and what brings you to life
Forget the superficial, that isn't what's real -
What's real is the passion
The breaths that you take
Smiles you plant on people's faces
Each inch of progress that you make
The beauty of our natural world
The loving lessons that you teach
The smallest act of kindness -
A smile on the street."

Tell me about a fellow, who played the guitar or something similar,
How he starved playin' night and day,
The way he didn't have enough to eat,
Tell me about his technique,
If I were to try it, you'd keep me quiet wouldn't you?
You say he died young but lives on through the unique melody he brought you and I, but back in those days he was told to play a different way, the same thing would happen today! I tell you,
The same thing would happen today...