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Old 01-17-2006, 01:36 AM   #30 (permalink)
Crowe
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Default "The Only Way to Do it is Rather Violent"

This is a song that I wrote in the same vein as 99 Red Balloons. In theory, the song would be somewhat "upbeat" while talking about a pretty morbid subject. Take a read, and know that this is storytelling through song in it's most literal sense. Hope you enjoy it.


"The Only Way To Do It is Rather Violent"


As it was told not long ago,
by little old men with pipes and all,
cherry tobacco fillin' the air,
they told of a boy, a future heir.
He would know everything there is to know
A prophet, for the human race.
Seeing all and knowing all, he'd help us all.
So the waiters have waited, and the sky has changed.
In a little old hospital in ole' Reykjavic, Iceland,
a boy is born with golden eyes,
born not long ago and the world held it's breath.

He grew and grew til the things he knew,
filled his head with such horrors and sights,
that as soon as he could he found a gun
and ended the nightmares he had at night.
The newspapers cried, Prophet dead at nine!

Shouted from rooftops from Brazil to Japan, oh no,
The world had finally gotten outta hand.
Leaders conviened in a high up place, to discuss
this thing called the human race.

Well they argued and argued and nothing was won.
Who was the cause of the world's distress?
Countries blamed countries and words became fists,
These leaders became animals and they shouted to their generals
End this madness shoot intecontinental ballistic missles!
Ah and you never saw anything so pretty,
the world lit up like a roman candle and everything,
everything was incinerated and obliterated.
Yeah, it was over like that. The power of logic,
overcame us all, and from the fall out, people emerged.

Covered in dirt and a little discouraged, they set out in search.
Survivors conviened in a high up place,
to discuss this thing called the human race

The child was right when he ended his life,
no one wants to be born into war,
and once more we are forced to come to terms.
And as hoarse voices joined in a chorus,
someone sang a song with a bit of guitar,
and from the bottom of this mountain,
the council looked down and the saw the prophet.
Standing next to a guitar player, he sang sweetly,
serenading the people up high,
looking up at them with golden eyes.

This is my gift to you, council on high. A clean slate, make it right.
With that he walked from sight, waiting for a day when,
he'll be needed again, he will be needed again.
he will be needed again. He'll be needed again.

In my edit, I took out extraneous yeahs, and ohs - as to improve the piece
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