d0ped0g
01-13-2005, 12:49 AM
yeah i've never been in love before, or been that much of a part of the whole romance and relationship thing (not that i dont want to or anything)... but heres a song i just wrote. Its unfinished, and i might get round to refining it later, but chances are i wont because its definately not one of the best songs i've written.
If u crit mine and want me to crit one of yours give me a link and i'll hook you up.
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CONFLICT ON WASHOUT BAY
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And i’ll choose love over logic
Day-dreams over decisions
Patience over procrastination
Crawling over the sandsteps of lovers on washout bay.
We’ll start kissing over thinking
Celebrating over sinking.
Unapologetically winking.
The noble art of compromise away.
Isnt is tender? isn’t it tragic?
What we’ve devoted our valueless time to today.
Truth be told i’m too young to grow old
Truth be told my protégé is yet to be paroled
And even when we realise that love is more sustained
by soap-opera triumphs on small screen
than smells, silences, sequiens and smiles,
Worrys, wishmakers, weddings and wives
We flog away mother natures true bliss
And label each moment the days of our lives.
Why is must every love song be labelled cliché?
Why do we let reason of what if's flutter astray
With one foul wind, the all truths we treasure flock to broadway
With one foul swoop the moonlight dancers will fade away.
Lost, in the ashes of a modern, lovesick, Pompeii.
If u crit mine and want me to crit one of yours give me a link and i'll hook you up.
------------------------------
CONFLICT ON WASHOUT BAY
------------------------------
And i’ll choose love over logic
Day-dreams over decisions
Patience over procrastination
Crawling over the sandsteps of lovers on washout bay.
We’ll start kissing over thinking
Celebrating over sinking.
Unapologetically winking.
The noble art of compromise away.
Isnt is tender? isn’t it tragic?
What we’ve devoted our valueless time to today.
Truth be told i’m too young to grow old
Truth be told my protégé is yet to be paroled
And even when we realise that love is more sustained
by soap-opera triumphs on small screen
than smells, silences, sequiens and smiles,
Worrys, wishmakers, weddings and wives
We flog away mother natures true bliss
And label each moment the days of our lives.
Why is must every love song be labelled cliché?
Why do we let reason of what if's flutter astray
With one foul wind, the all truths we treasure flock to broadway
With one foul swoop the moonlight dancers will fade away.
Lost, in the ashes of a modern, lovesick, Pompeii.