If you've read 'Welcome to the city' (posted a while ago) you've already come across this guy. Seems he's had himself a little affair.
Like 'Welcome', this is in the same story line as 'Age of the shadow people' and 'The fairest summer', also posted some time ago.

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Yet another unfamiliar place
I never let 'em grow beyond that
Ashes, leaves of trees and books
Fluttering in the wind
Yea, a world gone to waste
Waste not want not
As if people ever know what they have
Before they waste it
But funny thing is
In yet another unfamiliar place
She seemed a familiar face
Right away

You always told me
That in the end even I would find
The essence of a hero

A world framed by half molten steel beams
Show me one my kind, I'll show you a failure
What are the odds of someone saying
That the ashes still are hiding sparks
Who's to say what's in another man's mind
But for a while there, I think they listened

Oh yes you always told me
That in the end even I would find
The essence of a hero

Call it love, whatever, words are words
Her words fired them, her passion fired me
What are the odds of someone saying
That being a hero is a matter up to you
That from failure might rise wisdom
A wasted world might still find the way

I am who I am
And yet you always told me
That in the end even I would find
The essence of a hero
Yes, you always told me
Maybe you did see something
Well
I've seen things too
On an empty stomach and bad water
Still
In yet another unfamiliar place
You seemed a familiar face
Maybe you did see something




Returning wandering
The charred memories of a place
And a familiar face
A gutted corpse nailed to wall
Well darling, I guess you were right
In the end I did find
The essence of a hero

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That was very moody. It had a great lyrical quality to it moreso than I remember the others having.

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Ha, damn, I didn't even remember posting this one, even less getting a reply on it. Good thing the head is so firmly attached to the neck and so on.

Anyway, yea, I've more and more come to the feeling that the best way to say something is to just say it, putting purple words and stuff around it just dilutes the meaning. It's like when you go to a poetry slam, a large part of the crowd often looks like something you might expect coming out of a broken Ghostbuster vacuum cleaner, so that me in plain jeans and t-shirt will actually sticks out. I sometimes wonder how many caught on to the fact that it was actually a conscious gimmick move.

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