Archive for the 'lyrics' Category

18
Jun
11

god belongs to… !!?

V1

up on the misty mountain
I search for my soul
Emotions running free from a fountain
ready for the fall
It’s not hard for a smile to maintain
here comes the sign

Chorus
I have come for you
wake up from the slumber
I’m searching for you
among thy aerial lumbers

V2
Down on the selfish streets
I already did
deafen by high heeled strutting feet
40,000 voltage grid
roaming around for desires to meet
to satisfy the greed

Chorus
I have come for you
wake up from the slumber
I’m searching for you
among thy aerial lumbers

© Prayag Thakkar, 2011

11
Feb
11

Rock n’ roll children

My attempt at writing out and out rebellious rock n’ roll song. Suggestions and critiques are welcomed !

[V1]
We are children of rock n’ roll
we deny the god damn chase
you may have sold your soul
but we are the one who win the race

[Chorus]
Do you understand what I mean
It’s beyond what you imagine
Do you understand what I mean
It’s beyond what you’ve seen
Do you understand what I mean
it’s our f*cking religion

[V2]
We don’t f*ckin’ follow the crowd
We stand against authority
You may think you own the crown
but we are the one to establish the prophecy

[Chorus]
Do you understand what I mean
It’s beyond what you imagine
Do you understand what I mean
It’s beyond what you’ve seen
Do you understand what I mean
it’s our f*cking religion

[Chorus]
Do you understand what I mean
It’s beyond what you imagine
Do you understand what I mean
It’s beyond what you’ve seen
Do you understand what I mean
it’s our f*cking religion

© Prayag Thakkar, 2011

11
Jul
10

The City has Grown Up

Few days back after a night at AIESEC office for matching mania..early in the morning..I penned down my thoughts !!

This is going to be one of the promotional song. No structure to the song..just plain progressive piece !! Mostly acoustic piece with lot of melancholies !!

That’s what I’ve planned for now..later it all depends how things go while jamming !!

The City Has Grown Up

at four thirty in the morning
bright moon shines so dull
with two spotlights playing
around the the signboard
on which there is a skull

fluorescent tube lights blinking in the doorway
turbulence of the engines of the milk wagons and
newspaper distributors slurping the tea of the day
tempting the sun to wake this once-a-holy-land

roads and pavements grown wider
underneath glowing lamps on divider
only if their hearts were simple
i wouldn’t hesitate to call them people
nights have never been this colder
until this small city had grown older

24
Mar
10

you don’t have to be Oscar wilde to write this

This poem written by an African child was nominated for the best poem of 2005:

“When I born, I black:
When I grow up, I black;
When I go in sun, I black;
When I scared, I black;
When I sick, I black &
When I die I still black.

And you white fellows:

When you born, u pink;
When u grow up, u white;
When u go in sun, u red;
When u cold, u blue;
When u scared, u yellow;
When u sick, u green;
When u die, u Grey;
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
……………….and you call me colored????”

27
Nov
09

YOU

Last night, couple of thoughts came to my mind and penned them down. Although it’s one verse only..soon will be updated

here you go

A dream touched my eyes,

the touch that warmed the eyes and filled with piquant tears,

you whispered in my ears,

through frozen darkness, you shattered your absence..

29
Oct
09

The highwayman

This is my favorite poem ever, it is still as charming as I found it way back in 8th grade..

A poem by Alfred Noyes..

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding–
Riding–riding–
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He’d a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He’d a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle–
His rapier hilt a-twinkle–
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter–
Bess, the landlord’s daughter–
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened–his face was white and peaked–
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter–
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I’m after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o’er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching–
Marching–marching–
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
“Now keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
“Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way.”

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding–
Riding–riding–
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight–
Her musket shattered the moonlight–
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him–with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy’s ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding–
Riding–riding–
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter–
Bess, the landlord’s daughter–
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

20
Oct
09

deteriorate

the cold torrents of darkness waves hi
the fear of the light strikes in the eye
emptiness has the reason 2 reside in the depts of heart
drilling like a grinder and hitting like a dart
the drops that wet the ground beneath
they are sour tears of hatred but the dew
searching the corners in the circle, isn’t something new
ages been wasted in this noble yet useless quest
charactor changes, same is the story and zest
miles been travelled in running and burning
stars and moon be watching and laughing

dreams are piled upn, behind the swollen eyes
waiting for their turns to be alive
dust of time smothers them and they die
the hope never leaves as it strives
but, story ends with suffocating beneath the cross
or flying in northern winds,  after cremation





yeah, that’s me

pearls of wisdom

"Apparently people don't like the truth, but I do like it; I like it because it upsets a lot of people. If you show them enough times that their arguments are bullshit, then maybe just once, one of them will say, 'Oh! Wait a minute - I was wrong.' I live for that happening. Rare, I assure you."

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