someonecompletelyrandom

Conan make song. Done so for many moon. Me like jazz. Me like hip hop. Me like folk. Me consider doing them at same time, but me decide me need condenser mic first.

song index:

International House of Pork
Carry this Burden
Woodsman Set the Fires

International House of Pork

I think it's possible we've lived this life before
Same ol' days roll by / same ol' wanting more
Same ol' sinking of this ugly world of men
Blend apart be different / follow every trend

It'll only hurt for a while

I've given up trying to fight it
Life is wasted or I pretend until the end
Either they are prophets or they are liars
I'm just too conflicted to stand

It'll only hurt for a while

Carry this Burden

the circles of a vulture
round top my grave
give chills to my widow
and redemption to my name

when I lived I was rabid
and fearful of the sting
hid inside my corner
ignored the blessings it would bring

You'll carry this burden
while you're a young man

Grow old and look back satisfied

I'll watch the inside
While they're looking down

In the end, at least I tried

I've cradled my comfort
in the open arms of strangers
because family won't matter
be it sooner or be it later

siblings who drown in afterbirth
be they brothers or be they aunts
haunt the shallow ghost
of a family on the ropes

You'll carry this burden
while you're a young man

Grow old and look back satisfied

I'll watch the inside
While they're looking down

In the end, at least I tried

Woodsman set the Fire:

Woodsman Set the Fires

someone at last / to share my bread
someone whose shoes /aint full of lead
I'll tell them tales of a man whose tall
And the force that scarred / and scattered them all

One by one / they've left and they've died
Some say unholy things about those left alive
But the woodsman / he burns the letters black
he burns the whole forrest down just to cover his tracks

The police chief protests by setting himself ablaze
the woodsman just watches and he laughs himself into a daze

Well the woodsman / he got old
Well the woodsman feels regret / so he ups and burns himself to death
and people like me they tell the stories still
he lives on / although he's dead / through the blazes that he set
the charred wood / they made into baskets
and with his ash / they made his casket