#1
in city streets of a holy man whose gospel howled occult
those around him turned away and muttered "please, it's not our fault"
an author leapt upon his desk and scribbled down the words he wrote -
"the sparrows turned to locusts and the boats expected storm,
weather flushing,"
and we howled out for the grace of gutters gushing.

the courthouse shook at those inside who, damned and dead and bleak,
turned away from consequence in a black and burnt out week,
the hypnotic wind draws thickened air whose dust does glimpse a peak,
t'wards sharpened shadowed doorways of those who strived to speak,
t.v. sets flashing,
we howl out for the grace of gutters gushing.

the eyes of the lord were raging black when the twins questioned themselves,
and placed their pauper pasts in pretty pictures upon the shelves,
and the morning nun fell white to blue and dressed obsessed of health
and climbed drunk upon a mountain,
rivers rushing,
howling for the grace of gutters gushing.

through the kitchen of the drifting men we snatched water from the fridge,
and tried to snort it down in pairs as if it weren't a drink,
the liquid spilled out everywhere, facing floods we couldn't think,
in panic we splashed with cabinets smashed and swam out from the sink,
purely puffing,
and howled out in the grace of gutters gushing.

our minds were worn and faded far through clothes of nothing clean,
i'm told that we were born dirt poor - that it was in our jeans.
in our youths we turned to tolls of darkness drawing nearer teens,
or sitting screaming sobbing with mother nodding "just eat all of your greens",
bored and lusting,
howling for the grace of gutters gushing.

thunder blamed, condemned the men living hollowed houses in their heads,
whose minds were fixed on floating thoughts of finding food and bed,
their boats were blinded by the brink of sailors switching dreads,
where rocking tide was all ignored and the shimmer heard but dead,
shelter shaking,
howling for the grace of gutters gushing.

lightning rose and dogs cowered creeping 'neath the bed,
believing their body not exposed when they have hidden just their head,
a man will come and believe he's smarter, soon he's dead,
when the lightning strikes the man fiercly upon the face,
he is nothing,
and all that's left is the lonesome howl,
for the grace of gutters gushing.

and the spirits of the councilors is forgotten, left behind,
the thunder blames the men whose lives are dreams within their minds,
we look towards the hand of god and fall when we do find,
surrounded by a gang of angels hushing,
he's howling for the grace of gutters gushing.

it's a song, it flows fine to the music i have, c4c.
#2

Dylan at a Beat party holding his head in his hands at the will of the world against him. But he'll rejoice in this like all men together at the soul.




love is a dog from hell.



#3
Quote by skagitup
in city streets of a holy man whose gospel howled occult Very nice. Great first line
those around him turned away and muttered "please, it's not our fault"
an author leapt upon his desk and scribbled down the words he wrote -
"the sparrows turned to locusts and the boats expected storm,
weather flushing,"
and we howled out for the grace of gutters gushing. Great first stanza. Garbbed me straight away. I'm not sure about the second last line, but I'm sre it fits and sounds great with the music.

the courthouse shook at those inside who, damned and dead and bleak,
turned away from consequence in a black and burnt out week, These two lines are a bit weak (oh dear, bad pun) The first line is better than the second.
the hypnotic wind draws thickened air whose dust does glimpse a peak, My favourite line so far. Great imagery.
t'wards sharpened shadowed doorways of those who strived to speak,
t.v. sets flashing,
we howl out for the grace of gutters gushing.

the eyes of the lord were raging black when the twins questioned themselves,
and placed their pauper pasts in pretty pictures upon the shelves, Again, fantastic line, great imagery.
and the morning nun fell white to blue and dressed obsessed of health
and climbed drunk upon a mountain,
rivers rushing,
howling for the grace of gutters gushing.

through the kitchen of the drifting men we snatched water from the fridge,
and tried to snort it down in pairs as if it weren't a drink,Something doesn't work about this line. It's too obvious compared to the rest of the song so far. "As if it weren't a drink..." Hmm...It does sound good tho...
the liquid spilled out everywhere, facing floods we couldn't think,
in panic we splashed with cabinets smashed and swam out from the sink, Just an idea here "in panic we splashed, the cabinet smashed and swam out from the sink" Gives the ipression of the cabinet swimming out fo the sink? Just a thought
purely puffing,
and howled out in the grace of gutters gushing.

our minds were worn and faded far through clothes of nothing clean,
i'm told that we were born dirt poor - that it was in our jeans. Oh yes, bad pun and fancy wordplay. Onya Alex!
in our youths we turned to tolls of darkness drawing nearer teens,
or sitting screaming sobbing with mother nodding "just eat all of your greens",
bored and lusting,
howling for the grace of gutters gushing.

thunder blamed, condemned the men living hollowed houses in their heads,
whose minds were fixed on floating thoughts of finding food and bed,
their boats were blinded by the brink of sailors switching dreads,
where rocking tide was all ignored and the shimmer heard but dead,
shelter shaking,
howling for the grace of gutters gushing. I love the imagery of this stanza, it ties in very nicely with the storm theme in the first stanza.

lightning rose and dogs cowered creeping 'neath the bed,
believing their body not exposed when they have hidden just their head, I laughed at this. Very good
a man will come and believe he's smarter, soon he's dead,
when the lightning strikes the man fiercly upon the face,
he is nothing,
and all that's left is the lonesome howl,
for the grace of gutters gushing.

and the spirits of the councilors is forgotten, left behind,
the thunder blames the men whose lives are dreams within their minds, Again bringing back the storm theme. Very good.
we look towards the hand of god and fall when we do find,
surrounded by a gang of angels hushing,
he's howling for the grace of gutters gushing.

it's a song, it flows fine to the music i have, c4c.


All in all, I loved it. This is also the first song of yours that I foun I could crit, ah, properly, without just gushing, I loves it, LOL! Anyways, if you got question, lets me know on msn. Ciao!
#4
I liked all your meanings and intentions, but I really felt it read nowhere near as well as most of your songs. You seemed to have alot of awkward, clashing phrases.

in city streets of a holy man
in panic we splashed with cabinets smashed
our minds were worn and faded far through clothes of nothing clean
we look towards the hand of god and fall when we do find


There were some others as well. This one I couldn't flow well in my head, I couldn't imagine you singing it, which is something I can usually do with your songs.

Although I liked your story here.