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Το Meltdown, από το Skunkworks του Dickinson:
Hey you wait... cringing in the dark
you create what you always fear
a puppet of hatred dishing out poison
you use me, for bait, your begging bowl of lies
chain letters of snivelling compromise
I can smell the difference... your truth and your fiction
you and your twisted convictions
were you my friend when I belonged?
were you my friend when I was strong?
were you my friend when I was weak?
were you my friend when I was crawling calling... out of my head?
cold, like your blood the snake is always cool (cool)
when things get tough
you slither on the ground
you cover up your tracks when I'm around
it's over now my friend
your dog has got its day
it's payback time, or what you had to say
you're stuck with the life you made
stuck with the plans you made
stuck with everything you are
(και) στιχουργικά ο τύπος ορισμένες φορές είναι εντελώς θεός.
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den kserw an to exei ksanabalei kamia painless auto:
Fish-Cliche
I've got a reputation of being a man with a gift of words
a romantic poetic type or so they say
but I find it hard to express the way I feel about you
without getting involved with the old cliches.
In the old cliches, it's the old cliches.
This song's begun so many times but never
in a way that you wont consider to be an old cliche.
I want to say that I need you, I miss you when you're away.
And how it seemed like fate - o here we go - the same old cliches.
It's the same old cliches.
It's not that I'm embarrassed or shy, well, you know me too well
but I want to make this song special in a way that you can tell.
That it's solely for you and nobody else
for my best friend, my lover, when I need help - cliche - cliche?
Everything I want to say to you is wrapped up in an old cliche
I'd waited so long to find you, I'd been through the heartbreak and pain,
but of course you already know that cos you've been throught the same.
That's why I'm trying to say with my deepest sincerity
that's why I'm finding it comes down to the basic simplicities
the best way is with an old cliche
it's simply the best way is with an old cliche
always the best way is with an old cliche
I'll leave it to the best way, it's an old cliche
I love you.
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Nope, δεν το έχω βάλει αλλά απ' όσους έχει γράψει ο Fish, οι πρώτοι στίχοι που μου έρχονται πάντα στο μυαλό είναι αυτοί του Jigsaw από το Fugazi των Marillion, και ειδικά αυτό το σημείο:
We are siamese children, related by the heart, bleeding from the surgery of initial confrontation, holding the word scalpels on trembling lips...
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exeis dikio alla imoun sigouros oti auto 8a to eixes postarei :P
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Μπα, και πάλι προσκυνώ τους στίχους του Company από το Vigil και του Our Smile από το Fellini Days. Καλά, γενικά τίποτε απ' όσα έχει γράψει δεν είναι κάτω του μετρίου imho.
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parte tous kavliterous stixous:
Pink Floyd - One of These Days
One of these days, I'm going to cut you into little pieces
\m/ stegna.-
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kai o tropos tou to leei , ola ta gkafra
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Arcturus-Alone an kai einai poiima tou Edgar Allan Poe:
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were-I have not seen
As others saw-I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow;I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd,I lov'd alone..
Paradise Lost-Forever failure
Are you forever-loss of purpose in a passive life
Are you forever-pale,regarded as a waste of time
Can you feel rejection
And a lack of motivation
And the joy you need restricted and delayed..
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MetallicA - The Outlaw Torn
And now I wait my whole lifetime for you
And now I wait my whole lifetime for you
I ride the dirt, I ride the tide for you
I search the outside, search inside for you
To take back what you left me
I know I'll always burn to be
The one who seeks so I may find
And now I wait my whole lifetime
Outlaw of torn
Outlaw of torn
And I'm torn
So on I wait my whole lifetime for you
So on I wait my whole lifetime for you
The more I search, the more my need for you
The more I bless, the more I bleed for you
You make me smash the clock and feel
I'd rather die behind the wheel
Time was never on my side
So on I wait my whole lifetime
Outlaw of torn
Outlaw of torn
Outlaw of torn
And I'm torn
Hear me
And if I close my mind in fear
Please pry it open
See me
And if my face becomes sincere
Beware
Hold me
And when I start to come undone
Stitch me together
Save me
And when you see me strut
Remind me of what left this outlaw torn
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stixoi den einai to parakato, alla gamei kai molis to thimithika opote parte na xete...
The artist is the creator of beautiful things.
To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.
The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new
material his impression of beautiful things.
The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of
autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt
without being charming. This is a fault.
Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful
things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.
They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only
beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban
seeing his own face in a glass.
The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is
the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a
glass.
The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the
artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an
imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove anything. Even
things that are true can be proved.
No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy
in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.
From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of
the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is
the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work
is new, complex, and vital.
When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with
himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does
not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that
one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.
(Oscar Wilde)
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Royal Hunt - 1348
Future's comin' from the past,
Who's first and who's last.
Fire's risin' off the ground,
Fear's the king, entire town
Lookin' up across the sky,
Which one's turn to die...
All are one and world's apart,
Undertakers workin' hard.
You'll remember the loss of fate,
December '48...
Devil's mark is on your face,
Black Death's all around the place,
Rotten bodies it's where it at.
Friends are gone, and rat's get fat,
Cross on fire fights the night.
Crowd in front of the Heaven's Gate,
December '48...
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megali kommatara.
kaylwsa pali 5 i wra to prwi... :P
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paradise.lost - pitythesadness
...my soul is free, it lives again, to roam alone in darkness
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Βσκ, σχεδόν όλοι οι στίχοι Fates Warning. Ακούω Inside Out και δεν υπάρχει ούτε ένα κομμάτι με μέτριους στίχους. Δλδ, ok, από ένα σημείο και μετά (Alder era?), τα πάντα είναι τέλεια στιχουργικά (και μουσικά εννοείται).
