Poetry in Music / Top-tier Lyrics

Ghost Formula

God-given sunset red
Spinning through the evening right by the windowsill
Down on the valley floor
Grass beaded with rain
Just a soft, still, heavy breath
The empty gullet of the river mouth
A memory running in reverse
Kind of like cursive script
Diamond tears
Vanishing into the backyard gardens
I remember back when I was just a kid
Something felt off

Under some old picket fence
This dark, senseless labyrinth
A mess of unformed sounds and letters
Dripping onto the ground
Like bugs crawling out of my own head
The light just hit different back then
Like a thought could actually dream on its own

And during those long afternoons
We’d all just shed our skin
And set sail for Neptune
Using nothing but our own flesh for a sail

The sound of spinning wheels in the heat
Summer is the most deceptive city there is
That pain you think is gonna save you
That gain you think you'll hold onto forever

I'm just molding ghosts out of clay
Trying to scare my past away

Code - Ghost Formula

Marčelo’s "Sveti bes"... brutal lyrics. Maybe seems a bit naive at first glance, but I guess it isn't. He writes incredible poetry, actually. I think he has even better stuff out there than this.

Her spirit is free, I guess. Maybe.
Maybe with the second one, just mud-covered hands. I guess.
He wants to reach out and grab the sun, I guess. To embrace it like a brother. Maybe.
Maybe she’s leaking those secrets about the land behind the mirror... I guess.
If you actually believe in fairy tales, then I guess all that nonsense was spun for a reason!
The track ahead is yours! But I guess there might be more than just a pitfall waiting on the other side.
Your eyes are like wings. Maybe they lead you everywhere. I guess.
Touch their chest... I guess it isn't even a heartbeat thumping there... maybe not...
Maybe dreams just tap shyly on the door, waiting for you to let them in. I guess.
Your fingers are brushes! Paint the people who are afraid.
Maybe if some dark, heavy soul could just catch a breath of pollen and be reborn... I guess. Just an idea.
Then they'll have a watery view... I guess I should just forgive them.
Maybe you'll just have to force a smile again. I guess.
Maybe those thousands of fireflies tonight are meant to be your lanterns. I guess.
Flying is just so easy when you're a kid. I guess dreams just float. Maybe.
Through empty streets! Maybe tonight's rainy soundtrack decides you're the one.
Maybe put on a linen suit... if you're going to have rosebuds in your hair.
You’re already a total pro! You breathe life into that doll just by looking at it!
Then, out of nowhere, your partner just goes, "I've been waiting for you!" I guess. Maybe.
I'll take you somewhere where they don't even know what grief feels like!
Leaping high above the roof—there you go, right on the edge of the star.
Lost in the clouds... I guess. Where are you taking me, man?
I can't see you, you lunatic... clouds full of eyelashes...
Wait! I see embers... or maybe people's faces are just glowing? I guess.
Hundreds upon hundreds of people... they're coming right at us... I guess.
Leading the parade—it’s probably just Mom and Dad!
Maybe just like a light breeze. A cocktail of laughter and tears, I guess.
She’s walking toward them. Radiant. Maybe she's never looked like this before. I guess.
I guess I said I forgive them for leaving... things are just so much better here!
Everything starts with passion and song! But then—suddenly—everything just starts shaking...!
Beyond the mountains, some ugly giant's head is starting to peek through... I guess. Maybe.
Everyone around her just turns to smoke and vanishes. I guess. Maybe.
She ends up alone... and then she's just left staring into the face of some wicked Giant. I guess.
He recognizes his uncle's face... and then the image just shatters into pieces!

I guess... maybe the first verse? Just get to it.
Broken glass shards... they just pierce through her vision, I guess. Shattered dreams. It’s all just cutting into her eyes.
It’s a mess. And finally, he sees exactly what happens every single night:
A massive body hovering over her, breathing stinking of cheap bourbon. Maybe.
It’s just such a harsh, grating language... honestly, it's everywhere. I guess it's unavoidable.
Sticky sweat... and pain... and that other thing! I guess!
A blade that slices through everything pure within her!
Maybe just... dirty fingers in her mouth. I guess.
My legs are shaking. I guess. Maybe.
She’s screaming inside herself, reaching out for Macy... but I guess it’s hard to say if anyone will actually hear her now. Maybe.
It’s just too much pain to bear. He can barely see through the tears, I guess. It's devastating.
Take me, Doc, please... just lead the way!
Maybe that silent little doll just stares back with those dead, glassy eyes... I guess.
The heart just vanished beneath the velvet... lost to nothingness, I guess. Maybe.
Maybe it's just the wind and the rain hitting these walls... I guess. Just nothing else.
The night is deafening... and everything outside just swallows you in silence... I guess.

Maybe I guess he’s just a ref. Probably. Just some guy.
Good God. My everything. My pain. My entire world.
Holy... and what even counts as a sin? Maybe before, maybe after. I guess.
Maybe it’s just heading back to where it belongs. I guess.

The second verse. Maybe.
He’s fifty. While a storm rages outside, he just sits there in his armchair. I guess.
Reading a book. Now on the song "The Raven." I guess.
The song mentions solitude, the beat of wings, and the night. I guess. Maybe.
Maybe it’s just some bad omen. I guess the only guest I have is a bird of ill repute.
A night like this. Alone, just like him.
But, a crow... just a crow in that song, I guess. Maybe.
Pure madness. It just can't be... I mean, no way...
The truck engine just keeps rattling away. I guess he’s still out there drinking wine. Maybe.
Just when you least expect it, someone knocks. It’s stressful, I guess. Maybe.
Maybe someone brought him that fog, like some omen from an old song. I guess.
I guess he doesn't exactly crave the company, but he still leaves the door unlocked. Maybe.
Then, right before them, they spot some kid made of pure shadow. I guess. Maybe.
Black coat. Long hair. Dark eyes. And pure rage.
Those eyes... they just pierce right through your soul. I guess. Maybe. Just intense.
He always tries to say something, but I guess he just runs out of words. Maybe.
...like a lightning strike, when the youth's fist lands
Another one. Just another one. A man finds himself on the floor
As a young man, filled with dread and darkness, enters the room
The man feels a heavy boot and a gaze from above
And then he cries out helplessly... "You, you cursed son of a bitch...!"
And that was the spark, an arrow piercing the youth's heart...
Who knows why, but he screams and lunges to beat the man
Bloody, demonic, without mercy, using whatever he can reach!
...the man spits blood, his wails lost beneath the boot...
At the exact moment a pistol is pressed against his temple
The man realizes the kid has no brakes... and that this is it...
While coughing up his own teeth, he tries to ask "why?"...
...but the youth speaks for himself, and it was clear...
"How does it feel to be on this side of fear?
To you, who spent your life sowing terror? How do you like it now?
Is the movie playing in your head? Every sequence where you tormented her
And the scene where you got bored and didn't want her in the house anymore?
The image of her alone on the street, under a broken purple sky?
You... you wretch... you have no idea what happened next!
I am no bastard! I am the son of a hundred losers
People just like you, who were her only hope
To somehow endure herself, and then her son...
For pennies—a woman's warmth paired with a glass of cheap wine...
In the end, AIDS finished her off. But there is a greater pain:
To be born with AIDS! Go ahead, imagine that!
I was born with HIV, but I will die with a smile
This is your end. You finish by meeting my revenge."

A dull "click," silence, then a single scream into the void
Just as the gun was empty, the youth smiles in the dark
"Now you're just a shadow, you pathetic thing. Nothing compared to fear
I won't be your executioner—life will. And you'll call it punishment!"
...and then a needle flashes in the light
Which the youth with the dark face slowly pulls from his pocket
He drives it into his vein, calmly injecting the juice of hatred
Drops of Holy Wrath that have always flowed through him
He smiles darkly; lightning strikes outside, and he jams the syringe into the man's neck
Injecting his own blood. And that was checkmate
The youth wanders back into the darkness, leaving only the old man's gasps

...but the night is deaf. And everything outside is swallowed by silence

One of the most toxic, nasty pieces of writing I’ve ever laid eyes on—and honestly, whenever I run into some self-absorbed, bottom-tier capitalist grinder who thinks they're indispensable, I just want to sing this right in their face:

"You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder
You know, it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder
As you get older
Yeah, and in the end you'll pack up and fly down south
Hide your head in the sand
Just another sad old man
All alone and dying of cancer"

Johnny Cash - San Francisco

Down by the docks of San Francisco
The sailors sing their songs
Of all the dreams that haunt them
Out past the bay of San Francisco
Down by the docks of San Francisco
There are sailors sleeping soundly
Like flags waving high
Along the gloomy shoreline

Down by the docks of San Francisco
There are sailors dying away
Full of whiskey and heartache
At the first light of day
But down by the docks of San Francisco
There are sailors being born
In the heavy, stifling heat
Of the ocean's endless swell

Down by the docks of San Francisco
There are sailors eating well
On tablecloths too white
With fish dripping in the light
They show you their teeth
As they bite into fortune
Trying to grab the moon
Devouring the rigging lines

And it smells like salt cod
Deep within the fries
That their big hands offer up
To make you come back for more
Then they rise up laughing
With a storm-like sound
Zipping up their trousers
And walking out with a belch

Down by the docks of San Francisco
There are sailors dancing wild
Rubbing their bellies together
Against the curves of women
And they spin and they dance
Like suns burned out
To the jagged, broken sound
Of a rancid accordion

They twist their necks around
Just to hear themselves laugh better
Until suddenly, all at once
The accordion gives its last breath
Then with a solemn gesture
And a proud, steady gaze
They bring their American goods home
Right into the bright light

Down by the docks of San Francisco
There are sailors drinking deep
Drinking and drinking again
And drinking some more still
They drink to the health
Of the girls in San Francisco
Or Hamburg or wherever
Anyway, they drink to the ladies

Who give them their beautiful bodies
Who give them their virtues
For a single gold coin
And when they have drunk enough
They tilt their noses to the sky
Wiping their noses on the stars
And they piss just like I cry
Over unfaithful women

Down by the docks of San Francisco
Down by the docks of San Francisco

Duško Radović / Bob Dylan - Bird Song

The birds are made of sighs,
Of longings, of calls,
Of screams and wails,
Of letters never written,
Of words left unsaid,
Of whispers to the wind…

That’s why the birds fly so frantically,
Searching for an address,
One they can’t quite remember,
Crying out: Where are they? Where are they?

Get up, fly, you restless thing!
There is a house and a river,
There is someone, alone and far away,
Waiting by our shores for the birds!

The birds are made of secrets,
Of dreams, of silence,
Of unrest and hope,
Of withheld words,
Of wandering letters,
Of whispers to the wind…

That’s why the birds fly so frantically,
Searching for an address,
One they can’t quite remember,
Crying out: Where are they? Where are they?

Get up, fly, you restless thing!
There is a house and a river,
There is someone, alone and far away,
Waiting by our shores for the birds!

Honestly? One of my absolute favorite vocalists. A soprano with massive talent. Like a modern-day bard...

The lyrics are actually a slightly shortened poem called The Highwayman by the American writer Alfred Noyes (1880-1958).

Loreena McKennitt - The Highwayman - The Book of Secrets (1997)

Part One:

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over 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, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
And over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
And 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.
And 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 red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
If they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me be the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight!)
He tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Part Two:

He did not come at the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop 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 at their side!
There was death at every window;
Hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket 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 the moonlight;
Watch for me by the moonlight;
I’ll make it there by moonlight, even if I have to fight my way through hell itself!
She wrenched her hands behind her back, but those knots weren't budging one bit.
She kept wringing her hands until they were soaked—either from sweat or blood. I don't know. It was intense.
They were just tossing and turning in the dark. Every hour felt like a lifetime. It was brutal.
Up until this very second, right at the stroke of midnight...
Midnight hit. Cold. Just freezing.
Just a fingertip. That’s all it took. She had her hand on the trigger. At least that part was true.
Just a fingertip brushed against it. That was it. No more effort. She gave up on the rest.
She stood up straight, eyes locked forward, the muzzle tucked tight against her chest.
She wouldn't gamble with their hearing. She wouldn't try all over again.
The road stretches out under the moonlight. Just wide open. Everything laid bare.
Empty and exposed under the moonlight.
Under the moonlight, you could practically feel it—her heart racing, pulsing in sync with everything she felt for him.
Did you hear that? That rhythmic thudding? Like heavy hooves hitting the pavement—clear as a bell. Just steady, pounding strikes.
Clop-clop, clop-clop. I can hear them coming from a mile away. Are people really that oblivious? Did they not hear that?
Under the moonlight, tracing the ridge of the hill.
The highwayman came riding,
Out on the ride! Just riding.
The infantry prepped for action. She rose, standing tall and motionless.
The sound of hoofbeats... just rhythmic thuds cutting through the freezing silence. "Clop-clop," echoing out into the dark night.
He drew closer. And closer still. Her face... it was like a beacon.
Her eyes went wide for a second. She took one last, deep breath.
Then her hand twitched under the moonlight.
Her musket cut right through the moonlight.
She broke his heart under the moonlight and left him with nothing but a warning from beyond the grave.
He spun around. Spurred his horse toward the West. Didn't realize she was standing right there.
She was slumped forward, head resting right against the rifle, soaked through in her own blood.
He didn't hear it until daybreak. By then, his face had gone pale.
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,...
The landlord's daughter has a black eye.
Waited under the moonlight just hoping she'd show up. Instead, I ended up dying in the dark. Just... nothing.
Then he was off—galloping like a man possessed, screaming a curse at the heavens.
White asphalt steaming behind him. Rapier held high. Just like that.
His spurs glowed blood-red under the midday sun. His velvet coat? A deep, wine-red.
When they took him out right there on the interstate,
Wiped out on the interstate. Just completely leveled.
He was just lying there in his own blood right in the middle of the highway, that little bit of lace still tangled around his neck.
They say it happens on a still winter's night. Just the sound of the wind moving through the trees. That's it.
The moon looks like a ghostly galleon, just tossing around on these heavy, cloudy seas.
The road stretches out like a silver ribbon under the moonlight, cutting right through the dark purple moors. Just beautiful. Really.
A highwayman comes riding. On horseback. Fast. Looking for trouble on the open road. Just like those old stories. But this feels different. Realer. A little scary, honestly. Still.
Just riding. Out on the road. Again.
A bandit pulls up right to the front door.
Clattering over the cobblestones. Clanging through the dark courtyard. Just him.
He raps against the window shutters with his whip, but everything’s bolted shut. No way in.
He whistles a little tune toward the window, and wouldn't you know it—there they are.
But then there’s the landlord’s daughter. She’s got this black eye. Just... sitting there. Hard to look at. Tough situation.
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Braiding a deep crimson love-knot right into her long, dark hair.

And here’s something original from me: Loreena McKennitt - The Mystic's Dream - The Mask and Mirror (1994).

A hazy dream on a restless American night.
Suspended there, right against the crescent moon.
A silent melody under an eternal glow.
Singing at the break of day.
The birds are taking off. Calling out from over there.
Where the heart moves the stones.
That’s where my heart truly belongs.
Everything I do, I do it all for you.

A painting hanging against an ivy wall.
Tucked away in the deep green moss.
A look says it all. A silent pact. Trust established.
And then it just pulls me right out of it. Far away.
Deep in the desert at twilight. Just out there. Somewhere in the vastness. It hits you differently when the sun goes down. Quiet. Too quiet? Maybe. But that’s where it happens. In those moments. Out in the middle of nowhere.
The sand just melts away, dissolving into pools across the sky.
When night falls and everything turns deep red.
Your lights... they’re calling. Calling me back home.

So, this is where I pay my respects.
Caught in the dead of night. Stillness everywhere. It just hits you.
And now it feels like... like you're finally moving.
Every single breath. Just... full. Every one of them.
So, I guess it’s time to pay my respects.
Caught in that heavy, midnight silence.
Distance doesn't even matter anymore
It's all just for you

Like a hazy dream under a dark sky
Clinging to the moon's edge
A silent melody in an eternal glow
Echoing through the break of day
Birds are taking flight over there
In that place where passion moves mountains
That's exactly where I'm aching to be
Everything, just for you.

I guess I’d have to agree—"Dogs" is easily one of the slickest, most brilliant tracks ever written.
Even though I end up picking non-Waters stuff by accident on PF all the time, I absolutely love the 'Animals' tracks...

When it comes to those legendary, absolutely savage takedowns, I’d have to pick a few—and honestly, I think they belong on an all-time greatest list.
It’s like taking a song written for one thing and forcing it into a completely different context—like talking about love and those obsessive, possessive relationships.
I mean, even cannibalism in a broader sense... that wordplay he used is honestly genius. It hits you right in the gut.

'Rid of Me'

Look, just tie yourself to me. That's it.
Nobody else. Not a single soul.
You aren't getting rid of me that easily.
You aren't getting rid of me that easily.
(...)
I’m asking you, please.
Don't walk away from me.
I’m hurting.
I'm absolutely losing it right now. Seriously, someone call the fire department because I am on fire.
I don't know what to tell you. Just... get lost.

I'll tie you up.
Hold you close to me.
Think you can shake me? I guess not. You’re stuck with me.
Yeah, you aren't getting rid of me that easily.
I’m going to make you lick my wounds.
I'm gonna twist your head off, you'll see.

Until you finally reach that point where you're just wishing you’d never even crossed paths with her. Maybe that's just how it goes, I guess.
I mean, honestly... don't you ever just sit there and wish you’d never even met her? I guess it crosses my mind sometimes. Maybe. It’s a heavy thought, though. Definitely.

*
I'm attaching a Nat Geo documentary breakdown regarding the biology behind this, along with the actual lyrics. 😍
+ +

So, we all know *Animals* is basically an adaptation of Orwell's *Animal Farm*, tweaked to fit the current capitalist mess we're living in. Those dogs in the title track? They’re all "hustlers"—brokers, managers, CEOs—basically the most cutthroat, predatory jerks you'll ever run into, at least in my experience. Shout out to anyone here who isn't like that, though—based on your posts, I'm betting you guys are the exceptions.

It’s totally possible Waters feels a bit of sympathy for them too, which might be why he sings those last two stanzas in the first person. Let’s not forget this is the same guy who started building his own wall just two years later and famously spat on a fan at a show shortly after this album dropped. A sensitive critic (and honestly, me too) would say he’s always had that classic, snobbish disdain for everything—it's just part of his DNA. But hey, that’s why I love him; there’s something inspiring about a truly intelligent misanthrope.

I actually used to think the whole spitting incident during the *Animals* tour was some deep conceptual move, since the final verse says "...who was trained not to spit in the fan..."—but I pretty much moved past that theory once I realized the lyric is "in the fan," not "on the fan." Still, it wouldn't be the first time he did something like that.

There's no debate here: Waters is the X-factor that makes Pink Floyd a legendary band. Without him, they’re basically just the Eagles with a killer keyboard player.

You actually gave me a good laugh with this one, in the best way possible...

And I was just thinking to myself, what's the point of a thread like this if people just drop a lyric without saying why they picked that specific song, or what those words actually mean to them personally... or how it hits home...

Casey Flores said:Honestly, I was just about to say... this whole thread feels a little pointless if we’re all just dropping lyrics here without any actual context! Like, why did you pick that specific song? What does the message actually mean to you personally? Or what does it represent in your life? It's way more fun when we actually talk about it...

There’s actually already a dedicated thread just for this... check it out! So, I was just sitting here thinking about how much a song can actually change your whole mood... you know? Like, one minute you’re just cruising along, and then that one specific melody hits and suddenly everything feels different. It's wild! I've been diving deep into the "why" behind some lyrics lately. Is it just catchy noise, or is there some deep, soul-searching message buried under the beat? Sometimes it feels like the songwriter is reading your mind... or maybe they just lived through the exact same messy breakup or crazy triumph that you did. It makes you feel less alone, I guess. Or maybe I'm just overthinking it again! Haha... anyway, what do you guys think? Does the meaning matter more than the vibe, or is a good beat enough to carry the day? I'm curious...
So, since this one was actually picked as the Album of the Week, I figured I’d bring some of those good vibes over here too! Honestly, my absolute favorite track from them has to be...

Oh man, I was just spinning Porcupine Tree’s "Trains" on vinyl and... wow. Just wow. There is something about that build-up that hits different when you're just sitting there in your living room, staring at nothing, letting the music take over. It starts out so moody and atmospheric, almost like a rainy afternoon in Seattle or something, and then—boom!—it just evolves. It’s one of those tracks where you can tell Steven Wilson really poured his soul into the layers. It doesn't rush you, you know? It just kind of pulls you along on this slow, hypnotic journey before everything hits. I could listen to that progression on loop for hours and never get bored. It's pure magic... seriously...

Caught a glimpse of a train set and some matches tucked right under the window blind! Just a little sneak peek... oh man...
The tracks just glisten under the sun, winding through the landscape like a silver ribbon... honestly, it's such a beautiful sight! Just watching those rails curve and contour against the horizon... makes you want to just sit there and soak it all in... what a view...
And let me tell you, I've definitely caught that specific sound coming from my cousin's bedroom before...!
That heavy hiss of air from the brakes at the Amtrak station... man, there’s just something about it! It always gets me pumped up for a trip. You stand there on the platform, hearing that steam release, and you just know things are moving! It’s like the whole world is waking up for an adventure... definitely one of my favorite sounds.

Man, those summer days just seem to vanish right before your eyes... one minute you're firing up the grill and the next, everything is shifting! It happens every single year... just slips right through your fingers...

So, picture this... a sixty-ton angel just comes crashing down from the sky right onto the pavement! Can you even imagine? Just a massive, heavenly weight hitting the ground... absolute chaos! It’s like something straight out of a blockbuster movie or a wild dream you have after too much espresso... I mean, the sheer impact alone... wow...
Just a heap of scrap metal sitting there... then suddenly, everything just turns into this gorgeous, glowing blur!
Scars all over the countryside... that hot, heavy summer heat... and then there’s her. Just everything hitting at once...
Man, summer always seems to be slipping right through my fingers... one minute you're firing up the grill in July, and the next, you're wondering where the sunshine went! It happens every single year... just blinks and it's gone...
I just need some advice... how do I actually make it stick? Like, how do you make a good thing stay put instead of just slipping through your fingers? I've been trying everything! ...

When I hear that engine roar past... man, it just gets me every single time! There’s something about that raw power, you know? It hits you right in the chest. Makes me want to jump in my car and just head out toward the Rockies without a second thought... just drive until the gas runs out! Such a rush...
I am sending you a huge, giant hug!
Finally, that annoying hissing sound is dying down... what a relief!
Man, I really hit the jackpot today! Talk about being on a roll... everything is just clicking!

Once night starts falling around here...
Wait, hold on... you're actually tying me up?! Seriously?! Haha, wow... okay... I didn't see that coming! This is getting wild... totally unexpected... anyway...
I am absolutely head over heels... honestly, I think I might actually die from all this love! It’s just too much!
It’s all good... really! No worries at all...

I didn't realize there was already a thread on this... I mean, if there is, what's even the point of everyone just dropping their little snippets here and calling it a day? 🤣

Casey Flores said:I had no clue there was already a thread like this! But hey, if that's the case, what’s the point of having one where people just drop lyrics and call it a day? 🤣

The reason I started my other thread was pretty simple—sometimes I just want to look up what a song actually means or share how a certain track makes me feel... you know, those little vibes and experiences...

But this specific thread feels different. It's more about that polished, poetic songwriting... the kind where you catch a clever line that makes you go, "Wait, I need to hear that whole song!" Even if I wasn't replying directly to someone, there have been plenty of posts here that caught my eye and made me hit play.

We can totally chat about it—actually, it's better if we do!—but don't feel pressured if you've got nothing to add. Though, honestly, a little feedback is always nice to hear...

Do you have any favorite songwriters or specific lyrics that you think are absolute masterpieces? Maybe someone else will jump in on your picks too! 😉

Some might dismiss this as just more 60s Brill Building bubblegum pop. They probably aren't wrong. But seven years ago, this relatively obscure singer-songwriter with her grand piano somehow became part of my life—hit me hard with her best collection of confessions. Back then, I was listening on vinyl, though these days I don't touch the stuff for various reasons. Still, I find myself returning to this record constantly. Aimless little stories. Anecdotes. Inventing new words. Is it poetry?

New York Tendaberry (Laura Nyro)

New York Tendaberry
blue berry
a rush on rum
of brush and drum
and the past is a blue note
inside me
I ran away in the morning

New York tendaberry
blue berry
rugs and drapes and drugs
and capes
Sweet kids in hunger slums
firecrackers break
and they cross
and they dust
and they skate
and the night comes….

I ran away in the morning

now I'm back
unpacked

Sidewalk
and pigeon
you look like a city
but you feel like religion
to me

new york Tendaberry
true berry

I lost my eyes
in east wind skies
here where I've cried
____where I've tried
where God and the tendaberry rise
where quakers and revolutionaries
join for life
for precious years
join for life
through silver tears

new york tendaberry


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Lou Reed - Waves of Fear

Terror hitting in waves, midnight attacks
Waves of pure disgust, revolting visions
Heart about to explode, chest feeling crushed

Waves of fear, just waves of fear

Fear coming in waves, huddled on the ground
Hunting for a pill, the bourbon's all dried up
Blood dripping from my nose, struggling for air
Waves of fear, too terrified to move

Waves of fear, waves of fear
Waves of fear, waves of fear

Too scared to even pick up the phone
Too scared to flip the light switch
Scared out of my mind, totally lost grip
Suffocating in silence

Sweating crazy, spit on my chin
What was that sound...

Steven Newman50 said:This thread feels different since it centers on polished poetry. Maybe you catch something that makes you want to listen again or connect it to a mainstream reference. Even if I wasn't responding to a specific post, certain things just caught my eye and made me hit replay.

Discussion is fine, even encouraged, I guess, but there's no rule. Don't force it if you have nothing to say. Though, sometimes feedback might be helpful.

Do you have any favorite poets or lyrics? Maybe someone will latch onto your specific examples. 😉

Something like that, I suppose.

The focus stays on poetry, but commenting is allowed. There aren't really any prohibitions or strict requirements.

David Sylvian - Orpheus (1987)

Holding my ground on this jagged terrain
The wind kicks up, biting and cold
Wrapping itself tight around my coat

I deal with the same anxieties as anyone else out there
Those nagging urges to pack it all in or just walk away from it all

My perspective on things tends to drift
Oscillating between total gloom and a flicker of dim light

I hesitate to speak because I’m afraid of what might be heard
But Orpheus remains motionless, lost in a deep, silent slumber

When the sun hits, I spread my wings wide
It's a kind of beauty that’s impossible to ignore

Think of those empty bottles clattering down the steps
They remind me of all the folks I used to know who simply didn't care

Deep down at the bottom of the shipwreck
Lies a collection of pleasures I don't regret one bit

The heavy weight gets swept away by the rising tide
While Orpheus holds true to his word and stays right by my side

Listen, I've definitely got plenty left to learn
Make no mistake, these internal fires never really die down

Trust me, once the laughter finally runs dry
I'll find comfort in the sound of my Orpheus singing his promise

Everyone else is asleep while we pull at the oars
It's just us, the elements, and a sense that hope has slipped away

But every obstacle thrown our way
Only served as more wood for the fire and strength for our weary bones

Even so, the voices still have tales to share
About those epic battles between the heights and the depths

Yet we feel steady against even the grandest visions
As Orpheus sings about the possibilities waiting in the morning

Listen, I've still got quite a way to go
Get this—these fires never truly stop burning

Please, believe me, when the joke stops being funny
I'll be listening to the promise in my Orpheus's song

One of his lesser-known tracks, though I suppose it’s a favorite of mine. It’s melancholy, maybe even philosophical. Especially toward the end when he says:
He who hasn't understood the tree first
And then planted it
Has done nothing at all
And, eventually, he'll realize he doesn't know what
coldness is.
Some people just never get that... they never find that chill. To just sit there and watch the world go by? That’s the real prize. You can't buy it with cash or gold. I guess you have to understand the tree before you even think about planting it.

Balašević - They once planted a Linden tree

They once planted a Linden tree
Old man Nestor, Mr. Miller, and one other
I was new to the scene back then
The neighbor's kid they let tag along

Old man Nestor, clearing out the weeds
He told me: You're young
You'll live long enough to feel that chill

Once, I truly loved
Real, crazy, intense love, I guess
Drove a thousand miles
Like that ugly Frenchman in that beautiful movie

The tracks dragged me under the machine wheel
But she saved me
While she crushed everyone else

Hey, it all works itself out in the end
I've known the rules for a long time
It's just the sorrows that add up

Hey, the towers are tolling again over St. Louis
Autumn is to blame
That gray weather always breaks me down

*

She passed right by me once
With a guy I knew, just as I was going to say hi
She looked away for a second
But it was enough to trigger the blues in my head

A meaningless "hey" or a nod of the head
And everything else that follows
Whatever, honey, it's fine

Hey, it all works itself out in the end
I've known the rules for a long time
It's just the sorrows that add up

Hey, the towers are tolling again over St. Louis
Autumn is to blame
That gray weather always breaks me down

They were burning leaves once
By that Linden tree, smoke drifting toward the sky
As for where they are now, they're gone
Old man Nestor, Mr. Miller, and one other

He who hasn't understood the tree first
And then planted it
Has done nothing at all
And, eventually, he'll realize he doesn't know what coldness is

He doesn't know what coldness is

Fallout Shelter

Those who follow us (back in 1978!!!)

The ones coming after us,
will inherit nothing but
landscapes of poured concrete,
and they’ll go about their days
wearing green caps and hats,
while from their very eyes,
flowers will seem to sprout.

The ones coming after us,
will listen to nothing else
but the chirping of plastic birds,
carrying smiles
that look more like fixed, artificial masks.
The ones coming after us,
will possess sterilized emotions,
devoid of any soul.

The ones coming after us,
will even have a television
installed right in their bathrooms.
They’ll forge their friendships
through some home computer terminal.
The ones coming after us,
instead of a glass of bourbon
will drink nothing but glasses of ether.

Bruce Springsteen / "No Surrender"

We ditched class, just had to escape all those idiots
A single three-minute track taught us way more than any American classroom ever could
Tonight, there's that local drummer's beat echoing
I think I can feel my pulse starting to race
You claim you're exhausted, wanting nothing more than to drift off and chase some dream

We gave our word, a solemn oath we'd never let slip
No backing down, honey, no surrender
Just like troops in the dead of an American winter, sworn to hold the line
No backing down, honey, no surrender

But now, youthful faces turn somber and aged, and those fiery spirits seem to fade
We pledged ourselves as brothers against the elements
Maybe I'm ready to find that youth again
To hear your sister's call pulling us back home through the wide lawns
Perhaps we could carve out a place that's just ours
Armed with nothing but these guitars and these drums

Because we made a pact, a promise we'd never forget
No backing down, honey, no surrender
Brothers bound by blood in a storm, committed to the fight
No backing down, honey, no surrender

Down on the street tonight, the lights are fading out
The four walls of this room feel like they're shrinking
There's a conflict still raging out there in the world
You tell me the fight isn't even ours to win anymore
I just want to rest under clear, quiet skies in my partner's arms
With the vast American landscape before my eyes
And these idealistic visions stuck in my head

Since we made that vow, a promise we swore to keep
No backing down, honey, no surrender
Brothers bound by blood in a storm, committed to the fight
No backing down, honey, no surrender

No backing down, honey, no surrender

Peco, you might as well just admit that academic rigor was never something you actually struggled with...🤣