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So you want to surf the sea?
Well that’s fine with me,
So long as you return.

Soak up all the air you cannot breathe,
A change of scenery,
A desolate wasteland.

You’re burning bridges for the thrill,
You come knocking on my window still,
What am I to do, but fall in love?

You break all my furniture,
A consequence of the anger,
I instilled in you.

But your notebooks are empty,
You can’t pin that on me,
So put your words to work

You’re burning bridges for the thrill,
You come knocking on my window still,
What am I to do?

You chase me through the alleyways,
You stay in spite of what I say,
What am I to do, but fall in love?
3am, Manhattan bar,
This is how I get home,
And though the magazines insist,
You’re my dream girl,
A house bereft of furniture,
Is what I truly want.

What was once a healthy glow,
Is now the singe of flames,
I don’t want to feel alone,
But I don’t want to feel the same,
The apartment where we lived,
Is now an open plain.

How far can we expect to fall?
And I’ll be damned if the landing doesn’t make a cripple of us all.

Shoulder deep in Tarban Creek,
The water freezing cold,
The chattering of teeth,
Broke the silence of you and me,
Of you and me.

So I grabbed you by the sleeve,
And begged you not to go,
And the eyes you wore were empty,
But how was I to know?
That the memories we made wouldn’t appease your shallow soul.

Is there somewhere you’re supposed to be?
Because our past missteps have shown, that it’s not here with me.
You came back, minus the feeling,
Locked lips, but I’m still reeling,
From the last time you painted me red and ran away.

Sleep now, there’s no use praying,
If you don’t believe in the monsters you’re praising,
I’ll find a better use of your time.

It’s not the same,
We need to find a different way to escape the pain,
Believe me dear,
I wouldn’t be here if we had nothing to fear.

Doctor, prescribe me something,
To numb the pain of a lifeless lover,
I’ll take anything to stop my heart from beating for her.

Gravity, I miss your grounded sensibility,
You kept my aspirations safely tucked away,
In place of settling.

What should I succumb to?
Dignity or love?
And more importantly,
What did I do to deserve this, honey?
You’re painting pictures of the paradox I’ve seen with my own eyes,
That’s kinda futile don’t you think?
Just like everything.


It’s not hard to change a man,
Just show him how small he really is,
But if that change was for the better,
Then what the **** is this?
Paper snowflakes draped across the archway of the living room,
The skyline grey, the mountains blue, we’ll set the table for two,
Reminisce, drinking white wine,
It’s Christmas in July.

Close the blinds, shut out the tedium of the winter weekend,
We’ll recreate the magic of all those Decembers we spent,
Under the trees, laying silent on the beach,
Tomorrow we awake from our peace.

And now you’re lying asleep,
White halls, white walls, white carpet, white sheets,
I live and die by your blinking eyes,
I know I’m too deep,
I pray that soon you will awake from your peace.

Your photos litter every surface of my living room,
The skyline grey, the mountains blue, I’ll set the table for two,
The silence keeps me yearning for your laugh and your cry,
It’s Christmas in July.
In the dark of the Picture Palace,
You taught me how to live,
And to the music of the closing credits,
You left me in a mess,
And the flickering at the end of the roll,
Leaves me dreading the lonely walk back home,
And so in the dark of the Picture Palace,
We live.

Racing to the top of the amphitheatre,
We go rolling down the decline,
The grass stains on our sweaters,
We said we’d never clean,
The drop in my stomach as I hit the rock,
The pain of the fall, and the joy of the walk,
At the bottom of the amphitheatre,
We live.
I’m window shopping,
The fabric’s rotting,
I’m hoping for a glance, but you’re too concerned,
With carefully placed cigarette burns.

Mannequins dressed in relics,
These deceptions you’re selling,
Is it painful to live drenched in nostalgia?
To lose yourself further and further with every hour?

You are a paradox,
And you’re perfect.

These wedding dresses,
Stained – so reckless,
You assure me you won’t buy in,
But I’m not giving up; I’ll buy all of them.

You are a paradox,
And you’re perfect.

“I’m in love with you, Alice”,
You’re moving to Paris?
I’m sitting in the transit longue,
You’re waiting on the overpass,
Getting acquainted with the latest glossy magazine.

You’re wishing for some time to kill,
I’m drowning in the coffee mill,
The smell of every book you read and dress you wore.

I’m thankful for the time you take away.

You wrote the lyrics on my hands,
I matched the rhythm to your dance,
But I erased your name from every song I ever wrote.

The tunnel is an open door,
The tarmac is the ocean floor,
I’ll emerge tomorrow on another continent.

You’re still waiting on the call I promised yesterday.
This is definitely the shortest piece I've ever written, but I feel like I said everything I wanted to say.

In front of the already ashen sky
More clouds roll in
You picked the colour scheme.

The water is frothing
In anticipation
We mock its fallacy

The truth is known
Not by the fleeting illumination of the lighthouse
But by the light rising from the depths of Purgatory on the shoreline

And the thunderous applause we awaken to
Is just thunder.
Dragging your bike down the shorefront,
Is that what you dreamed of?
Is this what you dreamed of?

Your feet torn and rotten,
I’ll wash all the rain off,
And wipe all the pain off.

Should we stay and weather the storm,
Or will the God’s send us running?

We await freedom through every door,
But the guards see us coming.

Watching them capsize and struggle,
Is that what you dream of?
Is this what you dream of?

Your conscience: an endless tunnel,
I fight to escape from,
I cannot escape from.

And you ask me questions of love,
But my answers are hollow,

We’re surrounded; we can’t turn and run,
In our misfortune you wallow.

And every picture we paint,
Is just a means of escape,
And all the others look on,
And ask, “What is there to escape from?”

Lighting the city on fire,
It’s this you imagined.
Isn’t that tragic?

The colours will take you higher,
But stop all the traffic,
Let’s stop all the traffic.

You put the whole world on hold,
Is it really worth the wait?

All our possessions; we sold,
Is it really worth the pain?
Are we living in colour now?
Everything's drenched in sepia,
Layers upon layers of sunkissed skin,
Come peeling off, you’re free again.

Bleeding from the fast-rotting River Gums,
Is the truth you hid all those years ago,
The branches will quiver with every gust,
But your alibi, it must die,
It must.

I know you want to go to a country where it snows,
But you can’t.
The solace that you seek, it will only make you weak,
It will only make you weak.
If we go swimming in the rip,
We cannot blame it for the white lies on our lips.

Are we living in colour now?
We painted this whole ****ing river brown,
I’ll burn every bridge in this island dear,
I’ll be stranded forever beside you here.

Do you really want to pack it in again?
There’s no use changing,
It won’t change them.
Thanks for the feedback guys. If anyones interested, I've recorded a rough version. I think the lyrics make more sense in the context of the music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EwzjVI_deA

leilalauren: I'll get onto your piece ASAP

JimDawson: Yeah its about the catacombs. Good work picking up on that

kaptkegan: I get what you're saying about "frosted windows" line feeling out of place amognst the warmer imagery. I'll consider changing it
I’ve scoured these hallways,
Walked down these steps,
Seen all the sorrow they bring.

I’ve trudged through every canal in the West,
Imploring the seasons to swing.

With every descent,
Into another day’s grasp,
We give up the last of ourselves.

The fog only drowns out the clear April air,
And we’re left to lament wasted years.

We live in misery by day,
And Paris by night,
The Parisian tunnels await,
Everything will be alright.

I spent the night peering through frosted windows,
You swore you’d be waiting outside.

But I can’t waste decades,
Counting the days,
Hoping for love to arrive.

Walk on by.
Your colourless everything,
Is putting me to sleep,
Your resolute vitriol,
Has been taken out on me.

The winter is destroying us,
Chapped lips and potholed skin,
The void it leaves is cancerous,
Our time is wearing thin.

You don’t know me at all,
There’s a gaping hole in every plot we’ve ever written,
Too many faces lost beneath the veil,
April that’s you,
Don’t you know you left us wondering?

Go find some true perspective,
Then lay it out for me,
I’ll undoubtedly shoot you down,
Throw you another bouquet on which you weep.

The brutality of existence,
It wears me out,
Now we’re finally free of consequence,
We just took the scenic route.

Our story is not over.
C4C as always.


You’ve led me astray again,
Congratulations on all you’ve failed to believe in,
Heinous images,
You’ve forced upon me with full knowledge of my weakness,
You’re killing me,
You’re killing me.

You never let me in,
And now the bite of the cold air is eating away at my fingers,
I see you watching over me,
With such contempt,
But the truth is I know all of your secrets,
You’re killing me,
You’re killing me.

The flood is raging in,
Past the walls you erected to keep us dry,
So I turn myself in,
They force you down my throat,
And I drink the wine,
You’re killing me,
You’re killing me.

I remember every country town,
We went to escape the routine of the metropolis,
But we let ourselves drown,
In the comfort we derived from each other’s presence,
You’re killing me,
You’re killing me.

Nobody really thought it was true,
The stain glass,
We bought it for you,
Did you really think it was true?

I tied up my hands,
So the only thing flowing through them is you,
But such drastic change is permanent,
And I’d hate to give my life for a culture so untrue,
You’re killing me,
You’re killing me.

You seem so comfortable,
Wearing every last conviction on your chest,
But the aching inside of you is infectious,
You’re killing me,
You’re killing me.

Freedom,
It’s everything to me,
Yet I adhere so violently,
What does it really mean to be free?
I really like this. Especially the last two lines.

Does the capitalisation of "You" imply that the poem is directed at a deity? I can't seem to grasp it since in the third line, God is referred to in third person. Or am I just reading into it too much?

My only bone to pick is with the line "A glitch in God's programming". It just seems so disassociated (in language, not in subject) with the rest of the poem. But maybe that's just me.

In any case, I really enjoyed this.
C4C, of course.

Time served to prove me wrong again,
The years that I have spent searching and stumbling over you.
But my patience is wasted on someone so wrong about everything,
Yet I still follow you home.

And I’ve never been this far.

My conscience is bleeding internally,
Dying eternally,
Drowning in the pleasantries of the night,
And all the while I wait.
But we still go dancing all night at the cemetery,
The candlelight vigils held by the townsfolk are humbling,
Affecting,
And gratifying you and me.

And I’ve never been this far from anything.

When the air dripping out the gap in your lips trickles down my neck,
I feel at ease.

And I’ve never been so sure of anything.
Here's an audio recording of the song if anyone's interested:

http://soundcloud.com/andy_chalmers_102/photogenesis-1
I just finished writing this song and I'm hoping to get some feedback on it. It's a pretty simple song and I know my voice isn't the greatest but **** it.

Crit4Crit

http://soundcloud.com/andy_chalmers_102/photogenesis-1
Before you kill the rest of your alibi,
Please let me know where in this maze the truth lies,
Before we’re left to stare at the very sun that burns our backs bare,
And all I loved is incinerated here

Leave me to drown amongst my myriad of flaws,
And all the books you quote aren’t current anymore,
I loved the shapes you drew, the backwards notions you approved,
But I’ve grown old too.

I scratched the eyes out of the photo by my door,
I don’t want them welcoming me home anymore.
We’re a long way from the cottage pond,
And the deserted hallways at 10 o clock,
And the sandstone of the walls that keep the light out.

Now we’re bunking with the living dead,
As we come to realise that we are one of them,
Then they cut us open and they steal our hearts,
They made us stronger just to pin us down.

We always knew this day was coming,
But we never knew the repercussions,
You can stomp our legs, and collapse our lungs,
But we will fight back with every ounce of blood you take.

We never lived at all,
We only loved what we were taught,
Now it’s too late to fight the power,
We’re spinning on a thumb tack,
Hanging from the tower,
We never lived at all.

Remember the autumn days when we would pretend that we were lying on the beach?
The water rising to our knees, I do.
Thanks for the feedback. Glad you enjoyed it. The line “The women, they come and go,
Talking of Michelangelo” was actually lifted from a poem by T.S. Eliot (hence the quotation marks). I just felt like it fitted in with the idea of the piece nicely, and works well as a chorus in the arrangement that I have for the song.
8/10 Tame Impala are epic! one of the best bands to come out of Australia in recent years.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIurAP4yHtQ

Fang Island - Daisy
I really, really like this. It's not exactly the most complex of pieces but it's really potent in its message and I respect that. I love the recurrence of the line "Guess I don’t care much any more", especially since it holds a very different sentiment the second time.


My only criticism:
In line for my coffee
(They’d better get it right)
I notice pretty eyes behind a mocha
Sitting in the corner like a sweet memory


Good stanza, but that simile just kills it for me. A sweet memory doesn't sit in a corner... Perhaps rephrase it as "A sweet memory sitting in the corner like a _______ (something that actually sits in a corner)"

C4C?
https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1457324
Hanging from the fire escape,
Putrid rags of yesterday,
Thrown away.

Pressed against the muddy walls,
The linen keeping me enthralled,
And you’re to blame.

The decaying landscape at our feet,
We can’t see past the messages,
We graffitied.

“The women, they come and go,
Talking of Michelangelo”.


Scattered pills of blue and white,
They hold the keys to the nightlife,
For them you cry.

The living room has blown away,
We’re left to wallow in its remains,
Living in the shame.

These high-rise slums in twos and threes,
We’re stuck on level seventeen,
Claustrophobic.

I watch myself from across the room,
Smashing the mirrors that brought me my gloom.

They said that Blood is the new Black.
So I watch you sail away,
I cannot stand to watch the water part for you,
You flash a smile my way,
But it can’t make up for this.

When the return passengers,
Arrive back at the wharf,
I’ll look for your face amongst a hundred others,
Optimism never hurt.

It’s too late for rectification,
It’s too early for forgiveness,
Redemption won’t make this right,
And neither will you.

I hope you can forget,
All that I made of you,
Because the last thing that I want,
Is for you to be miserable too.

Apology serves no purpose,
It holds so little truth,
Sincerity lies within my heart and not my mouth,
So I’ll put it to good use.

We’ll find peace in each other’s memories,
I’ll leave you unchanged,
The flaws I lived with for so many hundred days,
Only feed the pain.

I will try to rectify this,
You can learn to forgive and forget,
I’ll seek redemption day and night,
Because we cannot lose this fight.
I wish I hadn’t seen you,
I wish I hadn’t heard your voice,
It brought back all the memories,
Of so many years of pain and joy.

And although I am older,
I’m not a single day more wise,
And I would happily fall under,
I would blissfully be hypnotised.

We drove to California,
Then we swore we’d keep in touch,
But I never read your letters,
I thought of all the lives I’d crush.

I tried to circumvent this meeting,
But the universe, it just won’t quit,
Now I must ask myself that question,
And what would have become of it.

We never practised for today,
Now we’re moments too late,
To manipulate our fate.

The future is upon us,
It looks no different to the past,
But we keep on pushing forward,
Uncovering the mistakes we have masked.

This is no cry for self-improvement,
We’re happy just the way we are,
This is a practise in delusion,
For we have ended right back at the start.

We’ll make the same mistakes again,
But this time we’ll be self-aware,
Of the pretension that we bear.
Show me a day when the whole world has a revelation,
‘Cause I’m so sick of living in a brain-dead nation,
We’re all searching for celebrity status in our own four walls.

And now the peacekeepers wield the same guns as the villains,
And the murderers are being portrayed as the victims,
And we cannot escape the red-handed grasp of the law.

They’ve crawled inside of you,
And they’ve got a hold of me too.

Take from the rich and give to the richer,
All the poor people want is an autographed picture,
But that’s too much of a stretch for the man in the suit and tie.

You could give them a token dollar or two,
But you claim to know where it’s going to,
And you’re so much better than that, so you walk right by.

So you head back home to find solitude,
But that’s where your ignorance will build,
Because the newsman tells you there’s nobody better than you.
Seattle let me down again,
So I await the sound of the jet engine,
First checkpoint: I’m feeling flustered
Second, and I have recovered,
Seattle let me down again.

I can’t wait til those three wheels leave the ground,
I hope I don’t feel this same way next time round,
Seattle you do bore me,
San Francisco’s waiting for me,
Seattle, you did let me down.

And in all your hollow beauty,
You hold no meaning to me,
I found love inside your town,
Granted, I found it underground,
Seattle you have nothing to offer me.

Seattle let me down again,
So I grab my bags and head for the check-in,
The hotel walls are brown and grimy,
But I feel comfortable in this city,
Seattle brought me home again.
You sit in silence on the passenger seat,
I pull out of my parking space on 17th floor,
The tension could be cut with cutlery,
And my body aches with too many syllables.

I examine the myriad scars on your cheeks,
The maze of imperfections leads me directly to your eyes,
And the tears that stream so elegantly down your face,
Fill the creases left by the time we wasted.

Autumn,
You bemuse me so I run away,
But we meet again as seasons change,
Autumn I can never escape.

Home is where you left your heart and demolished mine,
And now these hallways reek of distant times and memories,
You repaint the walls, but you won’t knock them down,
They will be forever embellished with me.

Light the torches, Praise the crosses,
We’ll never bring you down,
Until we burn the torches, burn the crosses,
Burn your house to the ground.
You look just fine,
From the outside of the stain glass window,
Of the chapel I used to attend,
When I had something to believe in.

I see you smile and it cuts me right open,
It pierces my skin like they did this morning,
I know I’m gonna die,
But that’s what keeps me alive.

At least humour me,
Put on your safety goggles,
Tie your shoes, brush your teeth, and stay away from others,
This town’s a dirty word,
But it’s everything to her.

You’re just a freak show,
With all your logic,
Playing capture the flag with the world,
Don’t mean to spoil the surprise,
But everybody dies.

We’re waiting, yeah,
For another nightmare,
Everybody wants the bragging rights,
We’re all victims of self-respect.

That old yellow brick road,
It’s stained with gasoline,
The temperature is rising,
While we’re left in grief,
Make us stop the clock,
There’s too many that we forgot,

We spent an hour a week,
Worshipping a page,
When we came from the land,
That we have let go to waste,
But we can’t blame ourselves,
Somebody must have helped.

Seventeen,
You’re dead to me,
Leave me your circumstance,
What a waste,
Evaporate,
A chemical romance.
Quote by TheLifeguard
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

Although they are big time users of studio magic. They suck live.

Tell me about it. I've seen them five times in the past year, not once by choice. (Festivals, support slots etc.)
I'm ashamed that JET is from the same country as me.
Freeway Jam

Vampire Weekend
This is where we washed away,
The mess we made,
On the nights I stayed.

This is where we wasted away,
Every summer day,
Begging the sky for rain.

This is where I won your heart,
When I pulled you out,
But then we fell apart.

So now I sit and waste away,
Every summer day,
Wishing for you again.

And the sun burns amber,
But mine burns black,
Dive into this December,
Don’t think I’ll ever come back.

Twenty lanes of sympathy,
Spread across the sea,
Not even one for me.

Everybody waves at me,
But they cannot see,
That you’re my misery.

The colour and the shape,
It bounces up the lake,
But the shapes are fake.

So now I sit and waste away,
Every summer day,
Wishing for you again.

Let’s watch the sunset,
From beneath the rubble,
In the pit that we call home,
I’ll have to go this alone.
Vocals/rhythm guitar: Ben Gibbard
Lead guitar: John Mayer
Bass: Flea
Drums: Dave Grohl
AUSTRAYLA!!! LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT MAYYTE!!!!!!!

/sarcasm

Also TED is the ultimate Australian beer. End of story.
No

Because I Got High - Afroman
I usually eat pussy late at night but that's a story for another day.
Quote by qwerty_555
I agree. I had to do an assignment on a charity and it turned out that around 70% of donations actually went towards aid. The other 30% was spent on advertising and administration.


But without that 30% spent on advertisement, the overall amount of money the charity receives would be much less, causing even less money to go towards aid. Advertisement is a means of generating more money, and when it comes to a charity, that's always a positive.