http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyBZC5NbvtM&feature=youtu.beFor all intensive purposes, this song is pretty much finished. However, I kept it out of the other section as it's not finished in the sense that it's just a video recording and doesn't have any other instruments and so on. It's basically a demo I'd use to show the basic core of the song.
This song is basically a mission statement regarding writing and its importance to both me and mankind. I guess it's supposed to promote free thinking and all that stuff. I'm not sure, take what you will from it.
Also, for the record, I don't credit myself in ANY way as a singer. Lyricist and guitarist maybe but that's it so bare with me on the vocals front. All feedback will be most welcome and appreciated.
Lyrics:
Many years before I wrote this song
There was a concept that seemed quite absurd
At first a seldom few chose to play along
And they could some things of which we'd never heard
They found constellations in our words
And they could draw a map depicting nouns and verbs
And each and ever man on Earth
Could become immortal should the skills be yearned
So as millenia came to pass
The greatest writers left their mark
And Homer, Tolstoy, and even Monty Python
Sanctioned wisdom as a form of art
But it's easy to list and exemplify
So I'm standing here trying to emphasise
That we all have pages in our minds
And we all have hopes we come to realise
And it's true we could just justify
Our ways of life by citing quips
And soliloquies that we've come across
scouring scripts for any hints or tips
But aren't we all just playwrights in the end?
Aren't we all just playwrights in the end?
Aren't we all just playwrights splitting quills
Staining ink to our shaking hands
And scratching our beards for what must be the thousandth time
On a holy quest trying to find the perfect words
TO bring these pages back to life
So I'm not quitting yet, I'm just taking a moment
To remind my self that this isn't fucking Shakespeare
There is no reading between the lines,
At best some half-arsed cliche lines
That I'm pretty are irrelevant in the end
So when my ink runs dry
Then it's time to die
And only then
Will I have nothing left to write.