I've stopped looking to the future
I just went into the studio twenty minutes ago.
I started playing the drum part to "hurricane" by Bob Dylan.
The song died, chances were it ended the randomized album on my Ipod.
The music faded, i continued.
I started rocking the same kind of beat, but then i started to just improvise.
It had a similar rhythm but nothing was right about it again.
I came down stairs, opened a fresh 'rade, took a sip, headed back upstairs.
This time, my baby was calling, the six stringed mistress(mistrust) made of wood.
And it came to me, the beat again, the rhythm i was riding.
My fingers found the B b, and began to play with a smooth upbeat rockabilly.
It cooled and i found a line i'd soon not forget, nor remember what state i wrote it in.
My hands moved with fiery quickness to fifths in other octaves on four strings down.
And now, i know: the beat, the line and now it's time for the lyrics.
Which brings me to my desk, to write this post and then open up some old files of lyrics and i'll chose appropriately
(Hold Please...Alvin Perrywinklefeather is my name i registered windows XP/Office under, lol)
there's a portrait of you
hanging in that museum
being stolen at high noon
from the corners of my dreams
I think that will be the start of it.
Sorry for the rant, whoever's reading.
I started playing the drum part to "hurricane" by Bob Dylan.
The song died, chances were it ended the randomized album on my Ipod.
The music faded, i continued.
I started rocking the same kind of beat, but then i started to just improvise.
It had a similar rhythm but nothing was right about it again.
I came down stairs, opened a fresh 'rade, took a sip, headed back upstairs.
This time, my baby was calling, the six stringed mistress(mistrust) made of wood.
And it came to me, the beat again, the rhythm i was riding.
My fingers found the B b, and began to play with a smooth upbeat rockabilly.
It cooled and i found a line i'd soon not forget, nor remember what state i wrote it in.
My hands moved with fiery quickness to fifths in other octaves on four strings down.
And now, i know: the beat, the line and now it's time for the lyrics.
Which brings me to my desk, to write this post and then open up some old files of lyrics and i'll chose appropriately
(Hold Please...Alvin Perrywinklefeather is my name i registered windows XP/Office under, lol)
there's a portrait of you
hanging in that museum
being stolen at high noon
from the corners of my dreams
I think that will be the start of it.
Sorry for the rant, whoever's reading.