Samson's Hair, Delilah's Blood by ThePrayer667, literature
Literature
Samson's Hair, Delilah's Blood
Marionette dances with the dead,
Just as well in bed.
She walks away, at odds with the day,
And much to Mari’s dismay,
She cannot remember
The dead approaching her with candor.
The winter’s been long as Samson’s hair
Falls over his eyes.
A lover’s razor begs him bleed
And sweeps him off of his feet.
Can you imagine?
The sudden fragility, a king brought to his knees,
Oh, can you even begin to believe?
Hallelujah, bless your soul
Dear Marionette, her blood’s run cold.
As Samson strikes her pallid figure,
Delilah aims and pulls the trigger.
Oh, she cannot wait.
Oh, it is her fate.
She takes his face in artist̵
A Drunken Journey into the Wilderness by ThePrayer667, literature
Literature
A Drunken Journey into the Wilderness
Some time ago on my journey of introspection, I gave up the path as I promised I would. I have stumbled upon my destination, a small limestone formation somewhere deep in the forest. The relative silence is punctuated by the desperate, lovelorn cries of a thousand insects, their tragic brevity disallowing the indulgent niceties of saccharine small-talk. The saturated earth of a dying creek bed is in stark contrast to the acrid aroma of the stale tobacco smoke billowing from my mouth and nose like clouds from the lungs of some ancient, ethereal giant. I saunter listlessly into a single angelic ray of light, now only a silhouette against my lim
As i'm searching for an end that could justify these means,
a contemplative silhouette against a rusty porch screen,
smoking cherry cigarettes and struggling to find a pen,
so I can make a list of all the things I'm trying to forget.
Faded memories keep creeping in, and I begin
to think a heart as full as mine within
a weaker chest would certainly explode,
and my back starts feeling stronger, despite the heavy load
Oh, I will always be a pessimist at heart,
and I may never be moved by modern art.
It would please me to the bone if I ended up alone
all full up with broken dreams,
but things are never as bad as they seem.
Let's all get togeth
Throwing Rocks at Trains by ThePrayer667, literature
Literature
Throwing Rocks at Trains
In my memory she's pretty
and I've still not said so long
I'm starting to lose hope that the mortician could be wrong
she was always alabaster, even when walking in the sun
but I guess she will just stay here in the past
where she belongs.
In my memory he's beautiful, but doesn't smile so much
Every time we meet I promise that we'll stay in touch
but your life feels oh, so busy when your horse won't let you ride
before you know it, it's to late, and now you're all burnt up inside
So let's see each-other again
soon if weather permits
we'll tell each-other stories about how we went insane
and we'll throw rocks at trains.
I know that it's a lot to ask
but could you be the one to lend an ear
all I ever wanted was for someone to be
happy I was here
and in every nightmare I never die
and in every dear dream the fireflies
light up the face of a pretty stranger
but fail to illuminate the danger
and every stranger's face fills with anger
when I do make known my fear.
some of these strangers, they have names but
never offer them
and they tell me that my name, it must be Burden
As I walk away I struggle not to tell them
all I ever wanted was for someone to be
happy I was ever here
Well I make my jokes and smoke the filters right down
to my yellowed fingers
all I ev
Remember me fondly, and
be scarce at my grave.
Let none carry stones at my fall
and may revelry be the prize in the wake
of a battle well fought
Though wrought with strife, eyes heavy,
back bent and legs bowed at the end,
My crooked smile was a waning moon
only time until all is new
Remember me daring
and be rare at my grave
know I was never more joyful than when
unwise
Though prolific in melancholy, my anguish was fleeting
and fear was inherently brief.
Remember me faintly
and be gone from my grave
only timidly speak of my folly.
let my love remain in your song's short refrain
when the wind wistfully whispers my name
Remember me alive
w
Well, I don't know if there was a purpose,
the day that our paths first crossed.
We were he and she, the 2 only
souls on Eden's green grass.
There's a tree in a field, long forgotten now,
where a man in the sky made us take a vow,
but it wasn't enough to resist that first bite
and we ended the world in one night.
If the bridge over troubled water should crumble and fall,
and if the apple of my eye is a sinner in his mind,
then my father knows no love at all.
We've been sentenced to burn for searching for reason,
i'll follow you there in fact,
though we've made ashes of Eden,
I wouldn't take anything back.
Out in the wastes, my mind burned
It's morning, and everything is alright.
I mean, I think, i've gotta say...
I think it's all gonna be okay,
because I saw your face this morning,
and i''ll see it again tonight.
I feel a sinking in my heart every time I leave
and I know you feel much the same as me.
You've got the fire burning hot by the time I come home,
as I shake off the cold.
And when i've had to much to drink you
hold my hair back as i'm hunched over the sink...
and you tell me you love me.
It's Winter and everything is gray
as we push that beat up old pick-up truck up the drive so
we can start the day.
But a little hard work sure took us a long way.
You scream at the t
Relax. Breathe deep.
Let the drug take hold.
Let your thoughts swim free and fade.
What have you done?
No, let it go.
But you meant so well,as
did Lot's wife when she set her eyes toward home and became
a pillar of salt.
Now you are a child in a darkened room in a house alone when the doorbell rings
and the strings reach a terrible crescendo.
Shaking in a corner, cold sweat, salty on lips,
you rake through thin hair with skeletal fingertips
in fear of visitors who travel a road paved with good intentions.
You are naked against the storm that approaches.
No relief from this disease, a pestilence of brutality without reprieve, no trick up your
Samson's Hair, Delilah's Blood by ThePrayer667, literature
Literature
Samson's Hair, Delilah's Blood
Marionette dances with the dead,
Just as well in bed.
She walks away, at odds with the day,
And much to Mari’s dismay,
She cannot remember
The dead approaching her with candor.
The winter’s been long as Samson’s hair
Falls over his eyes.
A lover’s razor begs him bleed
And sweeps him off of his feet.
Can you imagine?
The sudden fragility, a king brought to his knees,
Oh, can you even begin to believe?
Hallelujah, bless your soul
Dear Marionette, her blood’s run cold.
As Samson strikes her pallid figure,
Delilah aims and pulls the trigger.
Oh, she cannot wait.
Oh, it is her fate.
She takes his face in artist̵
A Drunken Journey into the Wilderness by ThePrayer667, literature
Literature
A Drunken Journey into the Wilderness
Some time ago on my journey of introspection, I gave up the path as I promised I would. I have stumbled upon my destination, a small limestone formation somewhere deep in the forest. The relative silence is punctuated by the desperate, lovelorn cries of a thousand insects, their tragic brevity disallowing the indulgent niceties of saccharine small-talk. The saturated earth of a dying creek bed is in stark contrast to the acrid aroma of the stale tobacco smoke billowing from my mouth and nose like clouds from the lungs of some ancient, ethereal giant. I saunter listlessly into a single angelic ray of light, now only a silhouette against my lim
As i'm searching for an end that could justify these means,
a contemplative silhouette against a rusty porch screen,
smoking cherry cigarettes and struggling to find a pen,
so I can make a list of all the things I'm trying to forget.
Faded memories keep creeping in, and I begin
to think a heart as full as mine within
a weaker chest would certainly explode,
and my back starts feeling stronger, despite the heavy load
Oh, I will always be a pessimist at heart,
and I may never be moved by modern art.
It would please me to the bone if I ended up alone
all full up with broken dreams,
but things are never as bad as they seem.
Let's all get togeth
Throwing Rocks at Trains by ThePrayer667, literature
Literature
Throwing Rocks at Trains
In my memory she's pretty
and I've still not said so long
I'm starting to lose hope that the mortician could be wrong
she was always alabaster, even when walking in the sun
but I guess she will just stay here in the past
where she belongs.
In my memory he's beautiful, but doesn't smile so much
Every time we meet I promise that we'll stay in touch
but your life feels oh, so busy when your horse won't let you ride
before you know it, it's to late, and now you're all burnt up inside
So let's see each-other again
soon if weather permits
we'll tell each-other stories about how we went insane
and we'll throw rocks at trains.
I know that it's a lot to ask
but could you be the one to lend an ear
all I ever wanted was for someone to be
happy I was here
and in every nightmare I never die
and in every dear dream the fireflies
light up the face of a pretty stranger
but fail to illuminate the danger
and every stranger's face fills with anger
when I do make known my fear.
some of these strangers, they have names but
never offer them
and they tell me that my name, it must be Burden
As I walk away I struggle not to tell them
all I ever wanted was for someone to be
happy I was ever here
Well I make my jokes and smoke the filters right down
to my yellowed fingers
all I ev
Remember me fondly, and
be scarce at my grave.
Let none carry stones at my fall
and may revelry be the prize in the wake
of a battle well fought
Though wrought with strife, eyes heavy,
back bent and legs bowed at the end,
My crooked smile was a waning moon
only time until all is new
Remember me daring
and be rare at my grave
know I was never more joyful than when
unwise
Though prolific in melancholy, my anguish was fleeting
and fear was inherently brief.
Remember me faintly
and be gone from my grave
only timidly speak of my folly.
let my love remain in your song's short refrain
when the wind wistfully whispers my name
Remember me alive
w
Well, I don't know if there was a purpose,
the day that our paths first crossed.
We were he and she, the 2 only
souls on Eden's green grass.
There's a tree in a field, long forgotten now,
where a man in the sky made us take a vow,
but it wasn't enough to resist that first bite
and we ended the world in one night.
If the bridge over troubled water should crumble and fall,
and if the apple of my eye is a sinner in his mind,
then my father knows no love at all.
We've been sentenced to burn for searching for reason,
i'll follow you there in fact,
though we've made ashes of Eden,
I wouldn't take anything back.
Out in the wastes, my mind burned
It's morning, and everything is alright.
I mean, I think, i've gotta say...
I think it's all gonna be okay,
because I saw your face this morning,
and i''ll see it again tonight.
I feel a sinking in my heart every time I leave
and I know you feel much the same as me.
You've got the fire burning hot by the time I come home,
as I shake off the cold.
And when i've had to much to drink you
hold my hair back as i'm hunched over the sink...
and you tell me you love me.
It's Winter and everything is gray
as we push that beat up old pick-up truck up the drive so
we can start the day.
But a little hard work sure took us a long way.
You scream at the t
Relax. Breathe deep.
Let the drug take hold.
Let your thoughts swim free and fade.
What have you done?
No, let it go.
But you meant so well,as
did Lot's wife when she set her eyes toward home and became
a pillar of salt.
Now you are a child in a darkened room in a house alone when the doorbell rings
and the strings reach a terrible crescendo.
Shaking in a corner, cold sweat, salty on lips,
you rake through thin hair with skeletal fingertips
in fear of visitors who travel a road paved with good intentions.
You are naked against the storm that approaches.
No relief from this disease, a pestilence of brutality without reprieve, no trick up your
This street I used to call my home
This place where I now stand
My head's still lost to dusty roads
Still feeling the heat burn my back
still trapped by burning sand
Echoes through my head
of the rocks beneath my feet
the fear still comes and goes
Invisible enemy
I can not escape, question every stranger
Close my eyes still see the flash
forever in the heat of danger
Under the honored flag
Brothers forged 'neath the sun
in silence sleeping now
should it have been me?
A simple medal brings no honor, no comfort
that void will never fill
no time will ease this pain
Pride and Freedom
motivate the jump into fires heat
The people I love, brothe
-Waiting Alone at McDonalds- by The-music-of-hands, literature
Literature
-Waiting Alone at McDonalds-
From my position on the ground,
I am staring listlessly at the sun,
sweet peach smoke not so much
rolling
but...
...drifting...
and joining the clouds--
seeping into the soon to be precipitation
of a chilly
Autumn rain.
The light dances away from a casual dizziness
and suddenly,
I am seeing freckles of fireflies,
or gnats of shimmering
glitterati.
My heart is empty, I remember,
yet this world is still
new to an old spirit,
with fresh blood.
And I wonder to myself,
why is it so easy to say hello,
yet so hard to say
Goodbye...?
Capture the Backlit Memories by BlueMoonTigerWolfe, literature
Literature
Capture the Backlit Memories
A song and a story
whisper me to sleep again.
My hand is rubbing circles
on the back of a friend.
Is it okay, to remember,
Alright, for you to never
return?
Leaving the pages of your diary
for me to read or burn?
Oh hello, morning, don't you come again.
I'm not ready to face the world yet.
My eyes are still tear stained, bloodshot, puffy and pink and
I'm a giddy mess.
Oh goodnight darling, don't you leave me yet.
The moon hasn't even risen to pass the night with me while I fret.
And my fingers are moving up and down the keys of my piano and
I can't get the chords to sound like music.
Discord harmony sing me softly in my sle
Sunshine Disaster by BlueMoonTigerWolfe, literature
Literature
Sunshine Disaster
The sun is breaking over the horizon
and the day begins to turn.
But the words have barely opened mouths
when you leave it all to burn.
Is it tragedy that makes you feel for me,
or does sorrow just sleep in your veins?
Then again, you always manage to banish the rain.
Oh you used to sit and you'd pray
and you'd whisper away all your fears.
And you'd wish that the world ran faster than your tears.
You're a sunshine disaster,
and you left the world come running after
trains to take away all the paths to love and shame,
your undying laughter echoed in my ears.
My sunshine disaster,
don't let me keep running after -
the world wi
hope is microscopic by The-music-of-hands, literature
Literature
hope is microscopic
I cling to the idea of someone
forgiving me for everything
I ever did
And all the things,
I will ever do, because I know
that I would make the same
mistake
over and over
again
until I had to resort to chasing
the filtered shadows of
the everything's that never mattered
and the nothing's that have
made the most out of
the things I have done.
I hold on to the hopes.
the specks of microscopic
DNA strands of what we could only call
love.
if the hope was yourself,
I'd chase
your shadow.
Maybe, I'd find somewhere
with light.
But then, I realize...
I would be lost.
Because when the lights go out,
Where do the shadows go?
Paper Wings for Paper People by The-music-of-hands, literature
Literature
Paper Wings for Paper People
When I left on that plane, and knifed through the air in smooth precise lines, I realized that perfection was a hoax.
And it was.
I'd set out with bags of memories and an iPod in my hand, with a smile and a promise---one that I somehow knew I wouldn't be able to keep...
And I when I left, I'd gone through airport security, and unclasped the necklace that held his heart.
(That was a head start)
The flight back was okay, we prowled through the clouds with feline grace, and then, somehow I got to thinking
Maybe ---(Probably)
Just maybe ---(Most likely)
I am fascinated and amused by language and its effect on individuals and society as a whole, the way a child is amused by a puppet show.
Current Residence: Indianpolis, IN Favourite genre of music: Blues Favourite photographer: Some guy named Evan Favourite style of art: Literature Favourite cartoon character: Rip Taylor Personal Quote: The only love interest that gives us more than it takes is music.
Well it's been a goddamn long time since i've managed to keep my shit together long enough to be in any kind of shape to make a record, but it appears as though i'm on my way there. I've got about 2 1/2 albums done as far as the writing process goes for my solo(ish) project "Snaggle-Tooth" and if all goes well, will be recording in January. So keep a lookout if you feel like it.