Lyrical

I could never speak in lyrics.  I knew people, clever people, who could spew lyrics while a tape was rolling and twist their own perverted words to match the moment at hand, but I couldn't.  For me it was like learning to speak Finnish or Polish; I was stuck speaking rubbish.

The great lines in music, the ones that make an eyebrow arch or a throat clench, are always written by a person who's eyes can conceal their word factory like heavy Victorian drapes blocking the sun.  You'll never know the inspiration by simply looking into their eyes.  Their eyes are a gateway to mazes and alleys that you should take caution if you wish to explore.  The pathways are guarded by word traps.

Words can been framed in ways to make the innocent guilty, the descriptive vague, and compassion becomes oppression.  Too many cheer it and believe anything without wondering what any of it means.  Except in lyrics.  In a song, a cigar is always a cigar.  But songs aren't the language of everyday speaking.

I still cannot rattle off the words like water rushing from a spigot.  They come slowly and in bunches.  I'm mostly at a loss for them but once they begin sliding out I cannot stop them and I simply go along for the ride while I have the chance.  Now, I'm feeling less dominated by words and the tide is turning. 

The curious aspect is the words are not fighting back, they aren't trying to regain their upper hand over me.  It is as though they are becoming obedient and seemingly they are asking, How may we serve you?