Half the time I do, half the time I don't. Especially if the phrasing particularly lends itself to a cadence or if the words came after or during the formation of a melody. Most of my things though will hopefully find homes eventually, so attaching myself to a certain melody might not be ideal anyhow.

I really have no idea where this shit comes from. It is these sorts of things that I don't put any thought into, they just pop out of my head and they always brief like this:

Seriously fucking dysfunctional and ineffective mime
Sometimes it sucks lotsa dicks being right all the time

Usually the words come to me as shouted by an angry pulpit preacher.

Nah, they just show up, usually a rhythm pattern or two. Then i just slot the words that seem right into their spots.

I actually don't think much about what the words mean until i have more than four lines down. I try to just let whatever sound seems to want to be fit together, go wherever it seems to wish to.

I don't know at all why i have so much trouble writing words to actual tunes i have written, with such a logical and controllable technique as this...

For some reason the following was running through my head all day while i was working:



A mechanical man, a plumber and a giant squid walk into a bar.
DO YOU THINK THIS IS SOME KIND OF JOKE, MAN?
THIS IS FUCKING SERIOUS!

It's all fun and games until kingkong rips the roof off.
There are so many things that we don't really want proof of.

The things that you and Cam write would actually work as real songs, too, generally, even the odder ones, while mine tend to be thoroughbred horseshit.

I dunno, i genuinely enjoyed that stretch of yours ranging from Odins halls to the yellow snow, to the crude tools, to all gods children being hellborne.

To me, those four sections seemed a fantastic sort of song, as one whole. Is that because my mind has cracked?

Mayhap?

Blessed be the porpentine, he knows not what he said
Hauled upon the guillotine, weighted down with lead
The troops, the powder magazine, all of them were dead
The queen upon her gilded throne sayeth "off with his head"

That might be a very interesting song as I hear the bits in very separate voices. It starts out as death metal and ends as a country song. I'm not saying necessarily what I write wouldn't work as actual songs, only that they tend to be quite silly (and very crass- common themes include the violent, scatological, anti-religious and copious amounts of profanity). Presented, perhaps, with a mock straight face it could prove very interesting indeed.

Exactly. I could see that as a trading verses sort of thing like a beastie boys record. Or a mr. bungle one.

And frankly, one of the things that i don't like about my own writing is that even where it might start silly it rapidly veers too serious or ardent, or whatever. The problem is, i think, i don't really have any control over the words. I can only let them do whatever i think they want to.

Anyhow, fuck it. Do it with a straight straight face. Those who need to understand it, will, IMO.

This is also a country song:

I like all the cussin'
Don't care what you got to say
I drink Robitussin
Robo-trippin' all damn day

I hear a lot of yours as (fantastic) rap songs, in troof.

Some of them are meant to be. There were a couple earlier in the thread that were obvious raps.

Something about mines and newcastle on tyne?

I hear you about the writing too serious of things bit. And that it just cannot be helped. A la:

I am bearing witness to the birth of the great disconnect
It's made it's way into our homes and into our heads
Strikes us as just a bit silly and strikes us as sort of fun;
Found ourselves fetishizing frenching the business end of a shotgun


But on the other end of things, there are some seriously fucking gaysappy things I write that only get to be read by a chosen few. Lately, I have been more fond of my lyrics though, fo sho. More "new things" have been popping up, it is nice.

A partial sort of sickness, with a principle waylaid
we keep adding up the columns but forgetting what we paid.
You could feel the pinch of hunger or you could guess the cost of fear
but you will never fucking never, find a convenient way out of here.

It is a matter of bold moves
it is a breaking of worn grooves.
we got so many old records
only ever home wreckers.

Been a brute of a short term
bearing fruit for the wrong worm
There's no proof and there's no form
we just do what we need to stay warm.

In line with the norm: Because there are just so many goddamned places that I write words between my computer, my phone and on paper I am always finding semi-recent to oldass things I have forgotten:

There's no more bread in the basket
No more butter in the churn
We're starving for something
Licking up what's left of father's urn


And, this I can remember writing during a particularly fucked post-acid nightscare:

There's people outside of my window and I'm not sure what they want
I'm not sure how, but I can feel the serpentine tongues flitting between their crusted lips


You should see what these things look like in my handwriting, it is properly disturbing because it looks like they were written by a 10 year old.

If it reads like an obvious rap, it probably is. The more disjointed ones that don't rhyme at all are probably meant to be yelled in some sort of atonal bark.

I'm rather proud of the Hall And Oates and Morris Day references in that particular group of things. Those were meant as raps.

I can hear wolves crying in the distance, they lust for our human clothes and for our human flesh
We all rest assured one of these nights that both will be repurposed once repossessed

I've torn out my eyes three thousand times in attempt to bring clarity to this lifelong charade of misperception
Van Gogh'd both ears to hear more clear and alleviate the everpresent confusion of sensual deception

We had a smooth running war yesterday, what the hell happened overnight?
Woke up to find that the hand we'd been dealt was replaced with a deck full of jokers


It is kind of silly/stupid how much watching M*A*S*H influences my writings.

Ah man, just found this. I dunno where the hell this came from:

Woah there lady, this is the twenty first century
You're gonna need more than DNA and photographical evidence

I have to say, I think it's gotta shade of slight genius to it. Though, it kind of reads like there are some sketchy/creepy intentions involved, though I can assure you that was not the case at the time of writing it. I mean, at least I think?