I thought I would share this one, hope you guys will like it, might not be perfect because I'm a french canadian, so here we go. Don't steal. JUNKIE You used to be a happy innocent child But now things don't look the same anymore Looks like everything you live is pure bullshit And you don't want to handle it any further You taught it was cool Since so long you haven't felt that great So you get yourself moving on Running for highs and always more You don't want to live You don't want to die You spend all your time Between death and life You are not to sure about what you want Or what just happened in the past Your mind is just to fucked up But you are only ginvin' up You lost everything that you had Just to get numb one more time But lately you just found out That the battle won't stop You taught you could handle it But now you are just too weak You can't escape what you've created No, my friend, you'll get bashed again The blue sky is from now on red You don't wanna see what a big mistake you've made So you close your eyes and pray for better days But tomorrow, you'll make the same ol'shit again Eventually the circle gets old Your friends change to zombies Everything beautiful start to die The sun don't want to enlight you anymore The moon becomes your only friend You wrap yourself in shadow velvets Trying to pretend your are in your element You dispatch the truth from your tears Life is passing you by Yet, all you do is sit and wonder why You look up at the sky with your fist in the air "Why me, oh, why me..." You start to cry You taught you could handle it But now you are just too weak You can't escape what you've created No, my friend, you'll get bashed again You make best friend with Anger And you call yourself a hard punk rocker Just because you handle your shit life And you think you don't need anything anymore Everytime you are alone without your stuff You start to freak out, beging for altered states Because you can't deal with yourself anymore So you get out and start your theatre Eventually the room is running out of spectators People are tired of the same story over and over You change city just to see what it could be Just to found out the same sad history You taught you could handle it But now you are just too weak You can't escape what you've created No, my friend, you'll get bashed again All that time all you wanted was peace of mind But that's what happen when you deal with the devil You sold your soul for what seems temporary butterflies Just to found out all you were dealing it was lies The song goes on, but you feel what I am sayin' I could sing that sad blues forever and ever 'Til the day that junkie thinks it's over That night, you could find him floating on the river... You taught you could handle it But now you are just too weak to last You can't escape what you've created No, my friend, today you won't get bashed again All that time you wanted to die Today, you collect your so called desire Life could have been something more But you spend all your time ruining it.
I think the word you're looking for is "thought" (past tense of "think"), not "taught" (past tense of "teach"). Other than the fact that I don't do drugs these days and I'm not a hard punk rocker, it sounds like your poem is addressing me. I like it. Who is Barbuchon?
Barbuchon is me; a nickname my little sister gave me. Cute way of calling a man with a beard in french. How is my "poem" addressing to you, according to the faq that you ain't no hard punk rocker, nor drug addict?!?
Oh just saw that you were from Medecine Hat!!! Man I love this place, looks like a lovely city, I would love to go live there one day.
Medicine Hat, Alberta, Canada is a small city of 60,000, centered on a river valley, surrounded by mostly treeless prairie. Summers are hot and winters are from time to time very cold, but not unusually so by Canadian standards. The inhabitants are overwhelmingly white and mostly conservative. The name of the town comes from a short story written by a Saamis Indian concerning a hat or bonnet made from weasel skin and other ingredients, but I don't know the details of the story. Rudyard Kipling stopped briefly in the early twentieth century and noted that the prairies here have "all hell for a basement, and the only trapdoor is Medicine Hat." The town was first settled in the 1880's when the Canadian Pacific Railway needed to build a bridge across the South Saskatchewan river.
The poem is good, well very good. Did you write it as lyrics to a song your were going to perform? (I aske because of the repeating verse in it.)
So play around with other music with the lyri cs removed from the sound-track. I don't know what its called, but you play a song into it, and only the music comes through to the speakers. Can anyone here tell Barbuchon what I am talking about?
I think that would kill the magic of music. A band creates a whole new energy, just need to find the right persons. But at the bio farm I work right now, there's some mad reggae, world music musicians. Maybe I could find my way around.
