Naked's Songwriting Journal
 

Edit: Skip to page 4 for revised versions of all songs but this one and "The Veteran's Show"

I wrote this with a dream girl in mind, but each verse describes a different experience I've had.
The music is written, but not recorded, so just imagine it being sung relatively fast and playfully.
It's my first song I've posted here. That being said, don't go easy with criticism.

How could I really know you?
We mostly talked with fingers
but we would write all the night through
When we got together, you weren't allowed to linger
So we ran as wildfires burned our tracks!

You're breath tastes so new,
When I kiss you I feel naive
Even though I teach you
To be friendly when we pollute
my garage and careful not to burn
the flowers there whose roots we
grind up and put in envelopes!

I tell you that I love you,
And you tell me I am cliche
but my mouth is stitched and glued,
unless I borrow from fairy tales
But you untangle my words before get to
Say them in my peculiar way
that frays the ears of people who
ignore cries of wolf by day
and believe witches trick children


We sit on roofs of my childhood,
Where rooms below I learned to read and be polite
while you were in another neighborhood,
with houses wound much to tight.
Now you teach me which fruit is ripe
for the picking, and not to steal
what's not ready to be eaten


Will will watch as cinders
erupt in each others eyes
The heat will char my lungs,
and melt the joints of my spine
with my teeth fused to my tongue I cry,
You're all i really know about life!

The Hollow Child

He can cry, but
he's not alive yet
caught in a net
of his mother's insides,
larger than the horse he rides
his body grown to the form
of the cave where he abides,
he may exist forever here
but he wants life!

Kick out her stomach,
cut the rope that
ached your wrists
and hung you from her first
breathe with your own lungs,
taste with your own tongue
it's time for our teeth to come in

The newly born
sleeps in his prison
blind to the sun
that glares through wood bars,
burning the fuel in the scars
that cover his flailing arms
Gripping the sacred star,
made from feathers and tar
he only feels mud and whips
so he lives in his mind!

So he watches
the fences take flight
links unwind and turn to kites,
the strings hang from the night
for him to catch and find,
his sight is not bound by his eyes

Carry your legs,
away from the
beggars who crawl
on their backs and follow
your heart as it expands
hold it in your hands
and swear to never be a man

there's only one page?

I had them delete the rest so that I can start anew with this album.

Untitled (For Now)
His ears have sunk back into
his skull to escape the cracks and
whistles of exploding men,
careless with their eroding limbs
hoping for memorial films
and singing blasphemous hymns
to comfort him
as he breathes in porcelain

His wounds are patched,
with his comrades skin,
harvested to match
the bandages that
stretch from his soul to his chin
and disguise him like
the waves of bleeding mannequins,
displaying the future war fashions
decorated by the televisions
that flicker and flash across his eyelids

he will never sleep though
shots extinguished the sun
so he sucks the powder from his gun
and his stomach becomes
a dormant volcano
until he finds a match to swallow,
and his body erupts at the pores
hollowing out the hospital

and so he betrays his sons
who march to military horns
commiting acts of treason
even during birth

Before she had a name,
she had sculpted her face
to not look quite the same
as the children who lay quiet,
their eyes sewn with lace

As a boy he was bald
his hair strung on his guitar
that he played for the stars
he followed as he roamed
his feet moving to the metrenomes
in his fingers

she molded her brain
from her dead mother's clay
covered in ink blot stains
that form pictures of all she thinks
for her to display

he plays the music he loves
and he loves all that he hears
his brain works through his ears,
that transmit radio waves
and send them coursing through the veins
of his soul

They met in a house of tin
and she painted his skin
while he taught her a hymn
they don't sing in church
and he showed her the pencil in this throat,
and she took it and drew a boat,
that they sailed across the moat
of the castle they both knew was home
And now his music fills the walls
and her art hangs in bathroom stalls
and they love doing anything at all
_________________________________

Change this whole thing mate. It's just not workin for me.

how so?