Song lyrics: Getaway Car

You know my soul is wearing thin with each and every passing day
And I don't belong in the place I'm in you know I've got to get away
Jump in my car and start to drive can't go below 55 the breeze don't feel as good
Today's a day just for myself won't do what anybody else keeps telling me I should

Things have got to change
before I go insane
I'm wiping off the slate today

The air's much sweeter when the strain is gone I almost forgot to breath
I'll just keep driving til dusk or dawn I'll take all the time I need
pick up my baby then we'll go the destination I don't know and I don't really care
We'll go the ways we've never been until we find ourselves again until we're happy there
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This song is great for singing at work when your stressed. No one listens to the words and you sound happy!

Song lyrics : Scrutinize

What a time for me to start over again
got too much riding on it now
trying hard to be the person I've been
Don't want to be found out

You don't know what you've done to me
Can't explain how this came to be
I close my eyes and you're all I see

All these dreams have taken a hold of my head
Sucking out all the pain
Try to light the candle at both ends
But getting burned by the flame

I wouldn't call it affection
Maybe just a connection
Then why all the dissection
Scrutinizing down to the inflection
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Go sing along here!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ais6wHr80X4

Fresh Snow

The bite of a breeze,
The wet of the air,
The crystals that freeze,
in your uncovered hair,
The blanket of quiet,
The eeriest calm,
The canvas a riot,
When it's tread upon,
Heartbreaking steps,
on its unbroken face,
The distance and depth,
that remembers your place,
Each footfall now minted,
within a cold cage,
Your wanderings printed,
upon it's white page

Beyond Survival

When life itself plays that perfect chord,
When no more cuts the rusty sword,
When eyes reveal that they understand,
When even fate is a helping hand,
When crushed insides begin to heal,
When circumstance won't make you kneel,
When weight is shed from tired shoulders,
When gravel sits where once were boulders,
When the words means joy instead of pain,
When the maestro plays a bright refrain,
When escapes your heart rather then chances,
When the you inside now preens and prances,
Let it in, this glorious arrival,
and enjoy the world beyond survival

Ember: Part 1

I always want to start in the middle. That's where the action starts. I don't want to wait, the waiting was the hardest part so why would I put you through that fair readers? So should we speak of the sword first? The one that split their skulls and severed various limbs from various foes or do you really want the beginning. Why would the woman becoming the destroyer be of any interest to you? Do you need to know why? The proverbial straw, the accelerant to the ensuing inferno explained? I suppose it's important that you can understand why an executioner became such. If not to make sure you do not tread the same cliff's edge then to make sure you can at least understand and stop the next bringer of doom. Ember is my name, they chose it for the black hair with a tuft of sparkly red at my widows peak. They did not yet know it would also represent the smoldering that would occur within me. The explosion that would level a town. Now at that moment it was a long way off, but the flames had already been fed. You see they did not name any girl in the village until she reached the age of 5. You may think it was due to disease or just perchance unfortunate deaths of the young citizens of the village. Notice though that I said girls. There was reason that we hardly made it to 5 years. That reason was the men of the village, well, the men's brutality and the women's acceptance of it. Now I've already told you that it was the girls that died in great numbers before 5. I suppose now you'd like to know why. As if it matters. Would it be easier to accept a wholesale slaughter of the girls when the food grew sparse, or sexual brutality by sick men that often went too far too fast. In ways that a toddler girls body couldn't handle. Perhaps it was just that the girls, upon ability to walk, were given the gathering jobs in woods thick with perils and hungry beasts and frequently didn't return. It could have been any one of these things or all of them but I'm not going to give you the pleasure of knowing so that you can reason yourself into tolerance. I was named at 5, as I said, and was given a broom in the ceremony. This was the ritual. What did this symbolize you ask? Servitude. Not magic not a clean slate but servitude. That was the woman's role in this village. The only one. One day I was sweeping with my new broom at 5 and 1/2 and a beast approached me. It tried to grab me it tried to hurt me. I beat it with the hard end of the broom until it lay on the ground in agony still trying to move towards me. The stick was dull but I still managed to drive it into the beast through a hole that it already possessed but when I felt resistance I kept pushing until it was dead. My mother found me and the now deceased foe and quickly urged me to drag it into the woods. Women were not the hunters. Women weren't allowed to kill things. I asked here what I was supposed to do let it kill me? She only nodded. We cleaned the broom and though streaks of red still lived on it, it was hardly noticeable. Still she urged me to rub it with rocks to try to remove the stains. She locked me in the vegetable hut for 3 days so I could complete this task. When she returned the broom handle was clean and the garden spade was sharpened and hidden within the folds of my skirt. I would not be caught unaware again. She smiled with a smile of relief and told me excitedly that she doesn't think any one has caught on to what had happened. She said it as if our vegetable yield had been double what was expected. I asked her why she was so excited by that, why it wouldn't be better for the village to know. Perhaps this was a form of protection we could exploit, fear. It seemed a popular one amongst the men in the village. She beat me and threw me back in the vegetable shed. By the time I reached 11 I had racked up a total of six months time in the vegetable hut for saying things like that. So when I once again slipped up she sent me to the local inn instead, to help clean up there for 3 days. I shortly realized upon arrival what that meant. This is where the adventurers and hunters from other nearby villages would stay while on their trek. It was all men, of course. I had my trusty spade with me but the risk of being in a building full of men that all believed that same things was perhaps made it too high a risk if survival was my intent. The gods however smiled upon me. The man I was paired with was a drunken fool. He passed out swiftly and harmlessly the first two nights. On the third night he made a move but could not deliver on his end of the tryst. As he cried himself to sleep I settled in the chair in the room. As he left the next morning he complained to the woman who managed the Inn and just before my mother came to pick me up and she beat me. Just as my hand reached for the spade my mother arrived. I still wanted to slice her a good one but just as I had been spared, I supposed she could be as well. Besides I had this growing feeling that I should wait until It was absolutely necessary to reveal my defense. I felt the danger growing each day. I felt the band stretching tight and soon, it would snap.

The Whole Story

An overlooked detail,
a loose thread, that part that is just ever so slightly off.
That is what I seek, as if a keyhole to help me unlock your mysteries.
I want to unlock you and pore through your dusty boxes.
I want to pick all the locks.
You say that's me in a nutshell but I want to crack it open.
I want to see everything from kept receipts of what you've sold,
to the annals of history that form the story of you.
The giant sign on the wall is nice
but the fortune you saved from a cookie long ago that's tucked into a tiny box in the corner is just as telling if not more so.
Do not relegate yourself to a summary,
you are so much more.
That clever blurb eventually becomes you, clever but limited.
Present the whole story and keep the ones who are clapping and crying with you at the end.

Self

This is my neon sign,
my drama, My very public tantrum.
I am making noise, calling out to those who need an awakening or just want to witness another's.
This is my banner, my t-shirt, my emblem.
This is what I stand for and support, this is my pride on the line,
my shield in the battle of existence.
This is my stage name, my costume, my mask.
This is how I have chosen to show you who I am,
this is what people will analyze after I am gone if they care to know more.
These are my volumes, my grimoire, my oral history.
It is made up of all of me, what I think, what I feel,
who I am, and how much that can change day to day.
This is my closet, my attic, my basement.
All the things I have collected throughout my life,
things I should have thrown out that I have kept and things I have lost that still pain me to remember.
This is my resume, my final, my thesis.
This is my offering to the world,
from my perspective shaped by many others and reinterpreted by me.
This is my brain, My heart, My gut.
Things that matter and things that don't but they all make up a life that is still learning and growing.
One that cannot be easily defined or even put into words properly
not even by it's author
but I will continue to try, not for you, but for me.