Lars
02-05-2013, 09:33 AM
"You Aside" - Feat. Namix
Marvel comic books were the start. I’d got enough of my hard-earned pocket money to feed my addiction. Reading through fiction. Endeared to them instantly, I leafed through the pages in disbelief and amazement. Though my heroes were makeshift, these were the days when my life mirrored their own. Gifted. In control. Distinctive and bold. Instinctive, even though I was given a role to depict. It was so much more different. I had goals. I had Vision. There was no confidence trick. I had hope. I was vivid. A full blown optimistic. It was golden. I was in sync with the moment and I lived it, ‘til it was over.
you were the light in our eyes, you colored our face;
the wind beneath our wings…. and under our capes!
ya famous, known well! revealed yaself, the mask is fake;
ya came out of your shell, as we helped to crack the case.
never-mind our accolades; we’re the dreams u hadn’t saved
got stashed in a trash bin; as your back in that masquerade!
we’re the saints of tomorrow; save your praise for latter days;
cuz we swung from divine just to face the wrath of grapes.
see, we’re made of the character you seem to lack in ways;
so in disbelief, you had to leave;
…….but best believe, the magic stays.
Now I’m monochrome. I’m on my own. Pixelated. The ink has faded. I’ve gone and grown and got so old I’ve lost my soul like Rock ‘n’ Roll. The pictures faint. Disintegrating. I’m in a state of disrepair. My dictions dated. Reiterated. Within the page theirs hidden tears. My staples loose. I’m unattached. I’m tainted, chewed up, full of crap. I’m ancient, fruitless, rubber stamped. They take me, use me, put me back. I’m utter trash. I’m rubbish. Scrap. Unloved. The past. Forget about me. The pressure’s mounting. My head is pounding. Can’t let it out and it never ceases. I’ve begged and shouted, pled and weeped ‘til I’ve shed a thousand empty pleas. I’m dejected. Hounded. Empty. Drowning. Help me now, then… Let me be.
dismissed your conviction, we’re too bitter to win;
and too sour to speak of a mint condition we’re in.
you were once a conductor, but you’re now a puppet
who keeps forgettin his youth pursuing fountains of it!
from the valleys to summits, you scaled to plummet.
too attuned to a tune that the fat lady aint sung yet!
if you said it, you done it ; it smarts, you’re the dumbest
son, summon some courage from that pit in ya stomach!
in a crowd of ten hundred the wisest one is the youngest
cowards are known to take their life,
….but heros know what they took away from it!
No tortured soul should walk alone. After all, I know, I wont be missed. I’m slowly sinking. Cold. I’m finished. Loneliness is closing in. I’m broken, twisted, old I’m sick. Malodorous and over with. I’m droll, I’m slipping. Scolded, distant. Motionless and frozen stiff. I’m bone and limb. I’m blood and tissue. I’m toes and fingers. I’m muscle tissue. I’ve no existence. I’m ghostly. Grisly. Unwholesome. Filthy, tired & I’m weak. I’m woeful, stagnant, quiet and serene. I’m a growing cancer. Silent. I’m asleep. I’m a closing casket. I’m finally at peace. I’m suicidal with my ethos doing battle with my will. I’m the Jagged Little Pill that Alanis didn’t swill. I can’t handle this, it’s killing me. I need to find escape. I am languorous. I’m history. I’m bleeding. Dying. Fake. I am vacuous. I’m misery. I’m evil. I am hate. My only chance left is to quit, to leave, for me to find my way…
you once lived in the moment.. ya, life, it’s in tense;
yet ya lost all ya good sense along with ya innocence.
we were larger than life but much smaller than livin it
so here’s the truth, if ya less interested in what fiction is:
we DID mirror your existence… reflect on it, reminisce!
we ARE your story, and we’re precisely as you pictured it!
all the heros and every villain, no figure is figurative!
then one day reality hit & ya forgotten how to scissor kick!
see, no crime is victimless – so just believe in us a little bit;
cuz we believe in you…
and’ll have an answer to ya problem when the latest issue hits!
Marvel comic books were the start. I’d got enough of my hard-earned pocket money to feed my addiction. Reading through fiction. Endeared to them instantly, I leafed through the pages in disbelief and amazement. Though my heroes were makeshift, these were the days when my life mirrored their own. Gifted. In control. Distinctive and bold. Instinctive, even though I was given a role to depict. It was so much more different. I had goals. I had Vision. There was no confidence trick. I had hope. I was vivid. A full blown optimistic. It was golden. I was in sync with the moment and I lived it, ‘til it was over.
you were the light in our eyes, you colored our face;
the wind beneath our wings…. and under our capes!
ya famous, known well! revealed yaself, the mask is fake;
ya came out of your shell, as we helped to crack the case.
never-mind our accolades; we’re the dreams u hadn’t saved
got stashed in a trash bin; as your back in that masquerade!
we’re the saints of tomorrow; save your praise for latter days;
cuz we swung from divine just to face the wrath of grapes.
see, we’re made of the character you seem to lack in ways;
so in disbelief, you had to leave;
…….but best believe, the magic stays.
Now I’m monochrome. I’m on my own. Pixelated. The ink has faded. I’ve gone and grown and got so old I’ve lost my soul like Rock ‘n’ Roll. The pictures faint. Disintegrating. I’m in a state of disrepair. My dictions dated. Reiterated. Within the page theirs hidden tears. My staples loose. I’m unattached. I’m tainted, chewed up, full of crap. I’m ancient, fruitless, rubber stamped. They take me, use me, put me back. I’m utter trash. I’m rubbish. Scrap. Unloved. The past. Forget about me. The pressure’s mounting. My head is pounding. Can’t let it out and it never ceases. I’ve begged and shouted, pled and weeped ‘til I’ve shed a thousand empty pleas. I’m dejected. Hounded. Empty. Drowning. Help me now, then… Let me be.
dismissed your conviction, we’re too bitter to win;
and too sour to speak of a mint condition we’re in.
you were once a conductor, but you’re now a puppet
who keeps forgettin his youth pursuing fountains of it!
from the valleys to summits, you scaled to plummet.
too attuned to a tune that the fat lady aint sung yet!
if you said it, you done it ; it smarts, you’re the dumbest
son, summon some courage from that pit in ya stomach!
in a crowd of ten hundred the wisest one is the youngest
cowards are known to take their life,
….but heros know what they took away from it!
No tortured soul should walk alone. After all, I know, I wont be missed. I’m slowly sinking. Cold. I’m finished. Loneliness is closing in. I’m broken, twisted, old I’m sick. Malodorous and over with. I’m droll, I’m slipping. Scolded, distant. Motionless and frozen stiff. I’m bone and limb. I’m blood and tissue. I’m toes and fingers. I’m muscle tissue. I’ve no existence. I’m ghostly. Grisly. Unwholesome. Filthy, tired & I’m weak. I’m woeful, stagnant, quiet and serene. I’m a growing cancer. Silent. I’m asleep. I’m a closing casket. I’m finally at peace. I’m suicidal with my ethos doing battle with my will. I’m the Jagged Little Pill that Alanis didn’t swill. I can’t handle this, it’s killing me. I need to find escape. I am languorous. I’m history. I’m bleeding. Dying. Fake. I am vacuous. I’m misery. I’m evil. I am hate. My only chance left is to quit, to leave, for me to find my way…
you once lived in the moment.. ya, life, it’s in tense;
yet ya lost all ya good sense along with ya innocence.
we were larger than life but much smaller than livin it
so here’s the truth, if ya less interested in what fiction is:
we DID mirror your existence… reflect on it, reminisce!
we ARE your story, and we’re precisely as you pictured it!
all the heros and every villain, no figure is figurative!
then one day reality hit & ya forgotten how to scissor kick!
see, no crime is victimless – so just believe in us a little bit;
cuz we believe in you…
and’ll have an answer to ya problem when the latest issue hits!