Tag Archives: song

The Callalily’s Song

You make me twist in my dreams

Diamonds fall from my eyes as I seem

Like a happy wave of melancholy

With heavy doses of sharp-taste irony


I can catch the gaze but not the embrace

I’ll hear the words but I won’t waste

Another second with such distal aches

Shivering in my spine as I break


A million emotions that jump in my blood

Are better than vessels drained of god

And my cheeks bruise again from the thought

Of dead roses in bloom and lungs in knots


What was bridged in that fateful midsummer

Shall last, interstitial, a transient forever

For perhaps the hazardous sins I’ll commit

In contusions are arrested in vignettes to omit


It’s the golden state glow of your undertow

Bringing me under and letting me go

Hidden in virulent sonatas I shall dare to chase

For a chance at hope to see your divine face


It may be the perpetual hurt that keeps me awake

And I may reach for sunshine blue but I won’t see it stay

But I won’t ever get tired, no, I’ll let my heart do all the talking

And listen to the rain for lost passion that keeps on singing.


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the thrill, the chase

each funny face

intense exhilaration

i want to embrace

the energy i take

every breath until

i jolt and awake

and i start to feel

excitement like a veil

scream ‘til i’m pale

cut through the shears

but no pain, no tears

every one second

is something to miss

in sweat and high

of this endless bliss

each blending song’s

memorised by heart

learn to chant along

it’s a delicate art

the pushes and shoves

good fun in the pits

moshing boys and girls

with wide smile teeth

the sheer camaraderie

everyone’s a friend

obsessed and possessed

to the very departing end

the joy and the love

when i know i’m alive

actual souls on the stage

giving warmth inside

the feeling irreplaceable

and satisfaction gained

tired and emotional

but it’s all fucking worth it

the constant aching relentless

from watching behind the screen

but with hopes rather dauntless

that someday i’ll be joining the scene.

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Broadcasting Live From The Seatbelt

Come one, come all, you’re just in time
To witness my first breakdown
‘Cause there’s a mile gone
For every minute passed
When I’m stuck in this town…


For every minute I count at the tip of my jaded palm

Makes me believe that I can actually give a damn

Third time’s the charm, but the thirtieth’s just tiring

I’ll save my breath for the holidays I won’t be taking


Change the radio station when nothing good’s ever on

Witness as I crash my car high on the beat of a breakdown

Just to make the news, just ‘cause I’m fucking bored

At least something exciting happened in this deadbeat town


But I don’t need a doctor, and I don’t need more pills

I’m not crazy, just feeling sorry that I don’t know what to feel

Passed out from the traffic fumes, stuck in my head for hours

Wishing I had better hair, wishing I had superpowers


And I’m not coming clean, what else is the reason now?

Dreams don’t come for free, especially not in this late hour

My stereo’s playing the greatest hits, I’m so sick of hearing it

I’d drink beer and smoke a drag, but I don’t know when to quit


For every second and mile that I waste, wasted off these foolish promises

Like my ragged backseat holster and stained carpet, my existence is a mess

And this just in, the latest breaking news is that I’m already fucking breaking

But I’ll step on the brakes until it stops, until I don’t know which road I’m taking.


So go on and lock me up, you better throw away that key
Before I find out where you broadcast from
Because your playlist is killing me
I’ll change that station, light it up like the 4th of July
It’s me, I’m caller fifteen, time to play my last request…

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Gloom Boys in Natural Blue

I have candy floss over my eyes, and no one can ever take that away from me.

I’m a double dare away from jumping into the clouds and getting lost in heaven, and even though their motionless lips tell me otherwise, imploring that the despondent sun will burn my frail skin and my charred cape will drag me back down into the ground, I’ll simply fly over them and defy what it means to be human.

For being an angel is not made of mere matchsticks and febriculic feathers, rather, it is the catastrophic sensation of breathing in your existence from your lungs and never letting it go, holding your oxygen in so tight that your chest will hurt, and tasting the very molecule that the wind is built up of, all before exhaling heavily and letting others share the light that passed the very chambers of your symphonic heart, and inhaling that decadent love once more like it’s the only sugar high you need.

I’ll be dancing a hundred footsteps as I reverently play the halo’s mellifluous beat around my head over and over again, but I shall never get tired of laughing and listening, and the glow never fades, the glow never coalesces into a darker retrospect of aspirations and bad habits, the glow is etched at the very back of my confounded head and if I close my eyes and wish a little softer, I can see pastel whispers floating and resonating behind my dreams, smiling quietly as it tells me fairy stories about twill reveries and acrylic oneirism.

Will you tell me that much? Will you beg in blazing yellow and speak in purple hand grenades, waking up again when the water parks detonate and soothing water splashes everywhere? This is not my gloomy lullaby meant to be kept under hushed tones and clandestine affinities, buried under the bones of ‘92, rather it is an everlasting caprice that is meant to be jubilantly shouted from the rooftops, until the nightingales and mynas and bluejays and hummingbirds mimic the colours in my eyes and echoes back a chromatic rainbow to be chased.

Am I not making any sense, or is the semblance of my self-optimistic throes withdrawing like violent ocean waves? It is not their fault, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s yours. It’s all yours. This nonsensical tirade making me backlash the usual defamation that is my wretched soul, making me passionate for what used to be desert sand and black light, now efflorescent flowerbeds and ultraviolet ecstasy, making me smile and laugh childishly at the most fickle of things like a madman staring limerently into the cornflower moon. You let a playful cyclone into my bedroom while I was sleeping, and it ravaged my closet and spun me all the way to your window until I was sickly dizzy, and you held your hand out to steady me and pulled me in, winking cheekily at the cyclone and returning its breezy grin before waving it goodbye.

Now that I’m here, will you promise to keep me? Airplane conversations and clustered entertainment isn’t enough to leave me amused. Are you laughing at my sadness yet? Are you performing odes along to me mournfully singing about the underhanded depression that makes me mad all the time and fucks my worried flurried mind up when the night is young and makes me go down the long road home? I’m a car crash that you can’t ever look away from, and I can’t ever look away from you. But don’t follow me to the site of the wreck. If your favourite set of stairs is the one up to my room, piece together the trail of love notes I left in the kitchen that say it all, and when you find me, I won’t ever have to let you go up. Let’s be lucky people, you and me.

Amid tantrums and crybabies, you’re nothing but rare. I may not be a warrior and you may think I’m the worst, but I know I don’t have to sleep alone again. So won’t you stay awake, stay awake for me? If you’re singing about la-la-la-love, my tune is more to the beat of a la-la-la-lobotomy. You’re my yellow lovely jealousy, in natural blue and viridian green memories, I’m losing my mood in a late night phone call, shading everything else from silver to pink to hiding under porches and craving territorial phantasms, it doesn’t matter. My common sense is powerless when you speak, and I’m not royal but I’m stupid for you, and 11:11 can go away because I don’t wish for anything else. I’m tired. You’re tired. Let’s be tired together. It’s more fun that way, don’t you think?

I have gloomy clouds over my eyes, and only you can ever take that away from me.

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W i t h o u t · A · S h a r p e r · K n i f e

Honesty sold-out at face value, the price you pay for distance

The depth of your wounds can’t be measured by the doctors in the ambulance

Complicate my rising lungs and grip my falling chestnut hair

Sleep in, I won’t keep bleeding out dreams if I know you’re always right there

This battle is yours to expiate, with every star there is to count

As multitudinous as the silver glistening in your face, an ebony ink tantamount

You’re regressing back to the rejected days of golden senescence

I wouldn’t let go of the only part of my life that makes any semblance of a sense.

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D i s g u i s e d · A s · M e

Set free all of the limitations, and suppress the discreet dalliance

Conceal the killer that resides in wait behind this dead end home

Photographs and signatures won’t atone for such plastic romance

And with every beat of your thundering pulse is a right in its own

Enamoured as you stepped on the glass they kindly laid out for you

Heaven may be a whole mess, but hell is still open for you to accrue

With the only retreat in a barren wasteland that paralyses each whim

So drop the honour and storm the weather, it’s right there in your skin.

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W h a t · I f · I · C a n ’ t · F o r g e t · Y o u ?

You won’t ruin the sunshine you left glowing on her fingers

They must think it’s dirty, but a work of art can’t be understood

With the pieces they left to light up what you thought you had

The necklace you still keep is just a memory, so careless and rude

If they begin to forget the audacious vivacity that you provide

Don’t wait for another phone call to ring in the middle of the night

The frustration in acrylic veins, alabaster failure they pursued

You gave second chances for the third time, but what if they don’t even want to?

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U n d r e s s e d · S p i n e

Rest, pour into the concrete outlines of my concrete bed

And write me another song about narcoleptic nightmares

We’ll wash away the wasted world with chlorine screams

With the rose you left embedded in your chest, and there

We’ll crash all our pendulum promises into the pavement

Lingering shards on your lips, and lodged deep in my pen

I won’t stay in California and burn the palm trees with you

But I’ll bite down on the truth and listen to your halo again.

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i am in severe pain

over the bedlam sounds

ringing the devil’s song

in my deafened ears

i hear them again and again

even when i cover myself

all i can ever listen to is

the earsplitting tears


i am in severe pain

over the bedlam sounds

echoing hell’s melody

beyond my ears, in my brain

if this is what pure silence

sounds like, then i would

rather be dead than to

have it eternally remain.

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When my eyes’ve grown tired
Cause no night can’t survive with just a flashlight of hope
When all I said was bitter
And words won’t bring her back for more…


The stains on my fingertips are subtly disorienting

As I stumble on my throat, refusing to breathe in

You’re moving too fast for me to ever catch up

And all we can do is laugh quietly before we sin

I tell every aching bone to whisper about sad news

The shadows and the mist bring me closer to you

They say that the blood you expelled is recluse

But I’m terrified that my evergreen will turn to blue

And it wasn’t my fault that all the skeletons in my closet

Came bursting out, when I could no longer contain it

Understand that my veranda is always welcome and open

When the decisions overwhelm, and I’ll wait until then

Strumming the starrified strings on my ten-string cello

Until my fingers pluck constellations of the final crescendo

And when you find your way to that everlasting enigma

Look up and listen close to the sound of my north star fantasia.

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