WolfAtTheDoor's Songwriting Journal
 

One day, when I can't find
the patches that reveal the stars in the sky
I'll take the hint and I'll pack up my mind
and you'll never see me, not after that day.

One day, when I won't open my eyes
and no one even bothers to ask why
I'll take the hint and I'll pack up my mind
and you'll never see me, never again.

And I'll push for the answers that I'm not s'posed to know
follow all the streams just to see where they go
read all the books and write all the letters
I'll make myself live forever.

One day, when the electricity's died
I'll refuse to rub sticks as a means of light
I'll march straight to my computer, and ask God why
we never see him, we never see him at all

And I'll push for the answers that I'm not s'posed to know
find a signal for heaven on my little radio
read all the books til I can change the weather
find out how to live forever

The repetitiveness doesn't work for me, however, I like the piece quite a bit other than that. The use of "s'posed" seems very out of place. The title is Binary Bluez, yet, computer is only mentioned once, which seems weird. The idea behind the poem is excellent, and I like quite a bit of this, but it needs work. Can't wait for draft 2.

I called it binary bluez just because I couldn't think of anything else to call it to be honest... draft 2 will come shortly

I really liked it. It has good fluency for the most part, and I especially like:
"And I'll push for the answers that I'm not s'posed to know
follow all the streams just to see where they go"
Very humbling.

Poetry From The Inn At The Top Of The Cliff.
 

Staring into the bottom of a dirty glass
In a quiet, cold pub
Sat the wrinkled old fella,
Heart bereft of love
Counting his grievances,
On both of his hands,
was 4 fingers too short,
that poor old man

On Christmas eve,
They sit up all night
Them two young lovers
Oh, he envies the sight.
They unwrap their presents,
When the clock strikes 12
Fall asleep in each others arms
It sends him straight to hell.

He’s the fascist son,
Of a war been and gone
And though he has justice
He doesn’t feel like he won.
And if you wish him well, my love,
You won’t like the reply,
For his words can send shivers
To the tip of your spine
And he’ll drink his ale,
To whoever is concerned,
Til his face turns pale
And he leaves this cold world.

This is exactly the type of thing I love. Life staring back at you from a glass & reminiscents. Perfect style, lacking a little substance but the rawness of it makes up for it. Good.

That's beautiful!

thankyou very much kind sirs