Post by Magderagon on Sept 13, 2007 18:32:24 GMT
Just somewhere for me to stach all my crappy songs and poems, feel free to trash
I wrote this just now while listening to Working Class Hero by John Lennon. Its kind of like my version of it, similar rhythm and concept. I dunno, just helped me de-stress.
Paragon of justice stands proud and true,
Tall and mighty in a regal blue,
Sword lifted high under the shining sun.
Proclaiming the evil he has undone.
Doesn’t it sound like a nice idea?
Make your heart beat fast and your eyes tear?
Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that plain?
Swing a sword till evil never comes again?
But life’s never that simple or easy,
Not like in the stories of thou and thee,
The shades of grey mask the black and white,
And it takes more than swords to beat the night.
Whisperers and rumours darting around,
But when you look they don’t make a sound,
All the while they stab you in the back,
With blades so subtle you don’t see the attack.
Kicks when you’re down and punches when you’re stood,
Till even your soul drips with your blood,
And you’re left jaded, unsure who to trust,
All for the good of their sadistic lust.
Stood feeling lost, loveless and alone,
Emotional scars cut right to your bone,
Just when you think there’s no more they can do,
They find a new part of your mind to screw.
Twisting the blade as it slides slowly in,
Your eyes so blurred that you just see the grin,
Your spirit breaking with your body, oh,
You start to doubt there’s a working class hero.
I wrote this just now while listening to Working Class Hero by John Lennon. Its kind of like my version of it, similar rhythm and concept. I dunno, just helped me de-stress.
Paragon of justice stands proud and true,
Tall and mighty in a regal blue,
Sword lifted high under the shining sun.
Proclaiming the evil he has undone.
Doesn’t it sound like a nice idea?
Make your heart beat fast and your eyes tear?
Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that plain?
Swing a sword till evil never comes again?
But life’s never that simple or easy,
Not like in the stories of thou and thee,
The shades of grey mask the black and white,
And it takes more than swords to beat the night.
Whisperers and rumours darting around,
But when you look they don’t make a sound,
All the while they stab you in the back,
With blades so subtle you don’t see the attack.
Kicks when you’re down and punches when you’re stood,
Till even your soul drips with your blood,
And you’re left jaded, unsure who to trust,
All for the good of their sadistic lust.
Stood feeling lost, loveless and alone,
Emotional scars cut right to your bone,
Just when you think there’s no more they can do,
They find a new part of your mind to screw.
Twisting the blade as it slides slowly in,
Your eyes so blurred that you just see the grin,
Your spirit breaking with your body, oh,
You start to doubt there’s a working class hero.