#1
C4C. There were two stanzas in a song I wrote than came from a poem, and those seemed to be the only ones people really liked. So, I took them out of that, and wrote a song based off of those two stanzas; be honest, be constructive.

Made of plastic, with painted doll eyes;
drawn with care not to blink when they lie.
Pseudo-silk still feels so smooth;
and when it's worn, it tends to soothe.

The real picture's sad but true;
it was really painted in Van Gogh's blues.
Shade of red, to illustrate rage,
mix into purple, then fade into gray.

No heat is felt, the pulse is weak;
too soft too even tap a beat.
And so it wanders, just a sheep;
it is forever seeking heat.

Why am I hanging, if I'm still on trial;
why does loathing feed denial.
Every peg has it's place;
unless that peg's an awkward shape.

No heat is felt, the pulse is weak;
too soft too even tap a beat.
And so it wanders, just a sheep;
it is forever seeking heat.

So cold;
so cold.
Same old;
same old.

No heat is felt, the pulse is weak;
too soft too even tap a beat.
And so it wanders, just a sheep;
it is forever seeking heat.
#2
Quote by herby190
C4C. There were two stanzas in a song I wrote than came from a poem, and those seemed to be the only ones people really liked. So, I took them out of that, and wrote a song based off of those two stanzas; be honest, be constructive.

Made of plastic, with painted doll eyes;
drawn with care not to blink when they lie.
Pseudo-silk still feels so smooth;
and when it's worn, it tends to soothe.
I really like the descriptions here. Nice rhymes too.

The real picture's sad but true;
it was really painted in Van Gogh's blues.
Shade of red, to illustrate rage,
mix into purple, then fade into gray.
Again, really like the way you describe things. It really paints a picture for the reader.

No heat is felt, the pulse is weak;
too soft too even tap a beat.
And so it wanders, just a sheep;
it is forever seeking heat.
This stanza feels forced. The first and third lines are amazing, but their coupling lines let them down horribly.

Why am I hanging, if I'm still on trial;
why does loathing feed denial.
Every peg has it's place;
unless that peg's an awkward shape.
I feel like this stanza was almost scribbled out to fill space. I mean, there's no flow, the rhymes are forced, and your vivid wording is gone.

No heat is felt, the pulse is weak;
too soft too even tap a beat.
And so it wanders, just a sheep;
it is forever seeking heat.
Again, second and fourth lines are weak.

So cold;
so cold.
Same old;
same old.
This could be either really cool or completely bad, depending on the vocal melody. For now, I'm indifferent about this part.

No heat is felt, the pulse is weak;
too soft too even tap a beat.
And so it wanders, just a sheep;
it is forever seeking heat.
Same as my above comments about this stanza.


Overall, I feel like you had a few good stanzas, and the rest were forced out to fill space. This has amazing potential, but it needs a lot of work in my opinion.