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The song lyrics thread

#21
Music  C C Offline
Finally. Just an especially dumb, straightforward, and worn to death mode of ghost story slash lyric that's totally devoid of allegory. (Hmm... yeah, right.)


Mistress of the Vale

[intro melody & verse]

The folk tale tracks back to a torrid courtship.
It was said that she drowned during the Jazz Age.
An archive fellow belched pertly after a short trip:
"Her photo reminds me of a young Xenia Cage."


[change to main melody]

The old man feels safe on any night.
He's far too old for her type of groom.
But his son Earl could join the spousal rite.
Since this stretch of Jull River is her tomb.

What bumps the boat has a hemlock smell.
What touches the fisherman is hell.
The water reflects a quaint bride to be.
Flushed with a sheen and bloodshed of ruby.

Flee, beloved, leave to be with me.
Swim, swim with what's betrothed to the Pale.
Swim, swim with the Mistress of the Vale.


Owen's lurking in riparian woods.
Clad with blazing orange vest and hood.
Doggedly patient as a fastened door.
The hunter, unafraid of haunted lore.

What drops from limbs above has cunning.
What clasps around his frame is ill health.
The voice behind him soothes like a mother.
One from which he'll never recover.

Flee, beloved, leave to be with me.
Dance, dance with what's betrothed to the Pale.
Dance, dance with the Mistress of the Vale.


Max travels the road through the valley
In a sedan, lavish and well wheeled.
She was there like a cat in an alley.
But without impact against his windshield.

What unbidden passenger is this?
What trouble to pilfer such a kiss.
Her mouth injects venom like a viper.
There's a steep crash surging in the driver.

Flee, beloved, leave to be with me.
Ride, ride with what's betrothed to the Pale.
Ride, ride with the Mistress of the Vale.


[closing, return to intro melody & verse]

The folk tale tracks back to a torrid courtship.
It was said that she drowned during the Jazz Age.
An archive fellow belched pertly after a short trip:
"Her photo reminds me of a young Xenia Cage."
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#22
Zinjanthropos Offline
Woke up at 4 this morning CC and since I couldn’t get back to sleep I opened up SV to find your newest release. As usual I tried to relate the words to a familiar piece of music I’ve listened to in the past. For some reason ‘Go to the Mirror’ by The Who popped into my head. I know it’s not exact but seemed reasonably close at the time Big Grin

My next attempt is C&W, a genre I don’t like too much, however I appreciate all music when it’s good for my ears. Wrote lyrics between 5:00 and now. Your song nor mine did not get me back to sleep Smile Look for it, when I get back from golf this afternoon whenever.
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#23
C C Offline
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
I didn't know country music actually had a song called "Psycho", dating back to a time when that would have still arguably been out of character.

Top 10 Halloween Country Songs: https://youtu.be/gwSj4mwc4-E

Psycho (Eddie Noack): https://youtu.be/BtDLN4LoPZA

The Story Behind Psycho: Leon Payne wrote “Psycho” in 1968 after a discussion about serial murderers with his longtime steel guitar player, Jackie White. [...] Eddie Noack, a well-liked and respected honky-tonk singer-songwriter ... had fallen on hard times by the late ’60s. Noack had a degree in journalism and English but loved singing. [...] Noack, who knew both Jackie White and Leon Payne, used some leftover recording time to record “Psycho” and three other murder and bedlam songs in 1968...

John Capp, who owned K-Ark, released the records hoping for a hit, oblivious to a solemn fact of the era: radio stations of the day weren’t going to play a song as eerie and depraved as “Psycho,” which includes the murder of a little girl, whacked by a wrench in a park, and the killing of a puppy.

Noack’s chilling and emotionless first-person reading of the song is a tour de force. You actually believe the killer is singing. Reportedly a disc jockey in Grand Rapids, Mich., played “Psycho” on a midnight radio show — the DJ denied playing the record when his job was threatened — but whatever occurred, some people heard the jaw-dropping song, and a cult hit was born...
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#24
Zinjanthropos Offline
As advertised. My attempt at C&W lyrics. Kind of a love song I guess. Could be what a delusionaly deranged nut job thinks for all I know. Its gender neutral or genderless, whatever...no gender pronouns

Heaven's Dance Floor

Wish they'd sing a song that we can dance to
The one where I can hold you close to me
Then I'd softly whisper that I love you
And gaze into your eyes so tenderly

I want to kiss your lips 'cause I adore you
You occupy my thoughts throughout the day
Afraid of not knowing what you might do
If you heard the words I know I need to say

(Chorus)
Why, why, can't I tell you
What am I to do?
Love's become a prison
Keeping me from you
Release and free me from
My sad lonely blues
And let my broken soul
Find its way to you

(instrumental?)

Sing that song, a song that we can dance to
Together we dance on Heaven's floor
And even though I hope it becomes true
I realize I must do something more

Repeat chorus
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#25
C C Offline
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
You nailed it, Zin. That's a country song (or lyric).

Nothing in there about mama, trains, driving trucks, small towns, getting drunk, patriotism, etc.

But you got prison, blues, lonely, and heaven (religion). No surprise that Canada produces country artists.

Since I guess most of the populated density of upper North America is hugging what would be the "south" for Canada (provinces that touch the U.S. border). A Texas runaway will find home again if they just keep going toward the North Pole. Leave the Armadillo Club and one eventually runs into its parallel world Possum Lodge counterpart.
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#26
Zinjanthropos Offline
(Oct 7, 2021 01:11 AM)C C Wrote: ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
You nailed it, Zin. That's a country song (or lyric).

Nothing in there about mama, trains, driving trucks, small towns, getting drunk, patriotism, etc.

But you got prison, blues, lonely, and heaven (religion). No surprise that Canada produces country artists.

Since I guess most of the populated density of upper North America is hugging what would be the "south" for Canada (provinces that touch the U.S. border). A Texas runaway will find home again if they just keep going toward the North Pole. Leave the Armadillo Club and one eventually runs into its parallel world Possum Lodge counterpart.

I’m going to paraphrase something I remember Sonny Bono said, ‘the simplest songs are the most popular’. Along the lines of the KISS (not the band)principle. Not sure if that’s a ringing indictment against the listening audience. Smile

The Red Green Show was kind of along those lines. Simple redneck humour. Possum Lodge and Rube Goldberg technology went together hand in hand. Steve Smith had a show with his sister at one time, Smith & Smith, also aired in Canada.
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#27
C C Offline
(Oct 7, 2021 02:40 PM)Zinjanthropos Wrote: I’m going to paraphrase something I remember Sonny Bono said, ‘the simplest songs are the most popular’. Along the lines of the KISS (not the band)principle. Not sure if that’s a ringing indictment against the listening audience. Smile


They first have to become a hit, and that usually doesn't happen without a good arrangement, catchy riffs, rhythms, melody -- and a singer with _X_ factor. (Often doesn't have to be a good or versatile vocalist, just one with a distinct quality all their own).

Exceptions are country music, folk music, hip-hop, etc where the preconditioning directs focus on a story or a "story-like" account. Gordon Lightfoot, for instance, could have recorded "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" in a studio with just himself and an acoustic guitar, and it would have still flown with that balladeer voice of his.

With respect to many of the top songs since the 1960s, you can't even make out the words of parts of the lyrics. Whoopie Goldberg: " Mick, Mick, Mick! Speak English!" in trying to decipher the vocals in that movie named after "Jumpin' Jack Flash".

In terms of some hits, the listeners often don't even care what the song means. (Just think of all the listeners in foreign countries who didn't understand English, that were attracted to Anglophone pop-music back in the day.) The singer simply becomes another musical instrument, uttering abstract notes and patterns that any words might be plugged into, as long as they make grammatical sense.

I remember John Philips once stating that even he didn't know what "Monday, Monday" was about. But that doesn't stop legions of analyzers from finding and projecting meanings into it (kind of like a Rorschach inkblot).
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#28
C C Offline
What with one week left, this is probably my last sacrificial offering of the bland to the gods of Halloween. Turns out, I'm glad there's a song titled Closing Time and a thousand other possibilities I had to go through that are already taken for a name. "Impending" is actually better or more fitting.

repeat sentences = refrain

Impending

Dazed arrivals cluster by your sign.
Does that quell their blank unknown?
You ferry them across flowing brine,
But still you're always alone.

The way a deaf girl hears her breath,
How a blind man sees a trend,
Like a noseless vulture smelling death,
Maybe I can sense the End.
Maybe I can sense the End.

[whisper] Perhaps I incense the End.

You seem to be the odd silhouette
That hauntingly has a face.
Even holding that cigarette
To ape a film noir nutcase.

The way a shadow hides in the gloom,
How an old ghost tries to blend,
Like a sunset delaying its doom,
Maybe I should mock the End.
Maybe I should mock the End.

[whisper] Perhaps I unlock the End.

I'm waiting for a black ambulance.
My guess is you're the drivers
On the same highway its Damned Crew hunts
For journey worn survivors.

The way a parched hunger is appeased,
How love is tortured and penned,
Like a torqued gurgling from the diseased,
Maybe I outlast the End.
Maybe I outlast the End.

[whisper] Perhaps I shout past the End.

A feral druid sits next to you
As the wolves swagger away.
Now the mutton trembles in the pew
As shepherds begin to prey.

The way church greeters hug a guest,
How a shirt receives a mend,
Like a target doing its best,
Maybe I welcome the End.
Maybe I welcome the End.

[whisper] Perhaps I become the End.
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#29
Zinjanthropos Offline
CC....always impressed with your vocabulary. I need a thesaurus to create that kind of lyric. Trying to do something Halloween like but can't quite get there, so I penned this one just now.

I Know You're There

It moves when I move
Its presence I can feel
I turn to face my shadow
But nothing is revealed

Refrain(repeated after each verse)
I know you’re there
I know you’re there
I know you’re there

I can taste the darkness
Soft noises can I hear
An odor unmistaken
Is it death, is it fear

How alone am I
My friend as yet unseen
Lurks within my boundary
Enveloping my being

I step and it steps
I stop and stand my ground
Suddenly I'm bathed in light
No smell, no taste , no sound

I move when it moves
My presence it can feel
It turns to face its shadow
And something is revealed
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#30
C C Offline
(Oct 27, 2021 07:19 PM)Zinjanthropos Wrote: [...] Trying to do something Halloween like but can't quite get there, so I penned this one just now.


Nice. First time I read it, don't know why I kept trying to make it conform to the Me And My Arrow tune, which it clearly doesn't (minus massive liberties of improvisation taken).

I'm bereft of "normal inspiration" for the post-Halloween season. But no reason for you to stop -- quite the opposite, what with the "ambiance of the weird" expired.
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