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Bedroom AcousticsInspired by the Muse B-side of the same name.
I wake to the sound of Marcél's guitar, his fingers gently strumming the thin strings, each flick precise and deliberate.
I gingerly open my eyes.
I can barely make out the bedside clock; it reads 2:35 am.
I don't move for fear of Marcél stopping his performance. So silent and frozen, I listen to him play.
It's a soothing sound. A refreshing sound.
Full of peace. Serenity.
It makes me feel whole. Makes me feel full. I already feel full.
Beneath the covers I quietly shift my naked body and bring my hands to cup my swollen belly.
Just one more month to go.
One more month before baby sounds fill this room.
I stopped wearing clothes at night because they were too hot. I was too hot because I couldn't sleep. And I couldn't sleep because I have a sack of organs, flesh and soul growing in my womb. My child. My treasure.
I close my eyes and listen to Marcél. Listen to the serenade.
Listen to my heart pound. God, the pounding i
I walk off the beaten path
Ticking clocks and white shadows lie behind
The ebony door in front of me beckons
I push it open and the darkness consumes me
Eyes struggle to adjust
Ears are bombarded with noise and sound
Then all senses focus
And I can see through the black a pale figure
Cautiously I approach, feet silent in the void
Now I am close enough to see, to smell, to touch
The figure is a Body
A Body lying on its back, still and noiseless
A broken mirror stands behind it
The Body's eyes stare above at starless skies
Then its head turns to me
Pupils meet and vision sharpens to its ultimate strength
And I see I see it all
The Body and its Parts
Hollow bones, but not of natural make
Bones of wood, bones of metal, bones of air
Bones forged with knives and heat
Bones that pound and clap and thump
Bones that sound the call of revolution
Bones that map the problems of the world
Bones that beat out existence's final gasp
Flesh rich in its texture
The ScreamConcerning Matthew Bellamy's falsetto.
It's power, raw, unfiltered, untamable
Controlled and steady, cool and calculated
Creation and oblivion in one sound
It pierces ear and mind and soul
Not dull like a butter knife
But hot and sharp like Japanese steel
Notes that float high draw darkness from below
Pitch that gives pleasure with defter touch
Than lovers could ever hope to give
It makes ears sing and hearts dance
The spirit leap and the fingers curl
I hope its master never fails, yet I fear
He'll kill us all with the Scream
Take a BowThere once was a strange little man,
Who went by the name of Dan.
And this funny little thing,
Wanted to be a king,
So he enacted a cunning plan.
He went to a very good school,
And learned all the nice laws of rule.
But his belief was fake,
And his own creed he would make,
Anyone who believed him, a fool.
He became a powerful lord,
Skilled with industry, finance and sword.
And one day came the desire,
To set his world on fire,
The reason? He simply was bored.
So he brought his planet under heel,
With cruelty, malice and steel.
And the people cried out,
With a resounding shout,
"Why have you forced us to kneel?"
But Dan ignored all their cries,
And forced loved ones to say last goodbyes.
He sent thousands to their deaths,
And with their last breaths,
They cursed Dan's thieving and lies.
Now everything lies dead and cold,
No more songs sung or happy tales told.
So good sir, take a bow,
And think about how,
You've ruined the world for your gold.
The rhythm of the dance brings your body to its peak.
The rhythm of your heart leads the tapping of your feet.
The rhythm of your mind moves too fast, is too fleet.
The rhythm of your soul flutters for the one you seek.
The rhythm of your love is a slow and steady feast.
The rhythm of your hate is a wild and angry beast.
The rhythm of the world goes alone on repeat.
The rhythms of the Groove are the ones you can't defeat.
ShineThe night goes onward
But my thoughts are lodged like stone
Spinning round one central point
A carousel of fear and doubt
Six strings seek to soothe my soul
But the hands that pluck them are my own
So emotion and voice are lost
Only precision, calculation guide my fingers
I think about the two of us
Me and you, now soon three
What have we done here?
What foolishness wrought?
In this life we have conceived
I remember our first meeting
You were broken, needing, wanting
I became your refuge and your life
You needed saving, and so I saved you
And now our child is coming
But we aren't ready
Then again, who is ever ready?
No books or words can ever prepare you
For a parent's loving duty
The last note dies away
I glance upon your sleeping frame
The dark tresses on the pillow
Your swollen belly outlined in the sheets
And my worries start to fade
I lay my guitar down and creep into bed
The creaks I make whisper of money and sex
As I wrap my arms around you
I can feel the warmth of your body
BlissFirst kiss, last kill
Calming tea, action thrill
Sunny days, fresh snow
Vanquished weeds, seeds to grow
Two lovers' touch, a prisoner set free
Building a car, climbing a tree
Little red dress, faded blue jeans
One small success, endless dreams
Love and hate, that and this
These are the things that give us bliss
Screenagerdrumming on keyboard, he keeps pressing Start as
nearly as fast as his beating heart and the
blood in his veins cannot contain the
endorphins and dopamine that are drowning his brain
"little screenager boy why won't you come out?"
the girls all scream and the boys all shout
but he doesn't hear them, oh no no no
over his ears his headphones must always go
like sugar or sex; crack and acid too
the e-void always has something new
some tidbit to read, something sordid to see
don't bother with chains; he doesn't want to be free
he makes many masks to hide his true face
some good, some bad, some with bite, some with grace
all his choices of self, all the ways he can go
the poor lad's lost himself and he doesn't even know
his family below, he knows what concern they share
but to drag them through his darkness wouldn't be fair
and those digital phantoms, his friends indeed
give him all the love he could ever want or need
so he'll type for you, friend, this screenager boy
while he clutches the
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