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Schörde
My chords become swordsTiny little bladesFloating around in the airThey’re made out of pure soundDirected towards my enemiesWhich come at me in hordesI point and I prayI get on my kneesI plead with the lordNot to be seizedThe lord is not pleasedBut he grants my requestSo off with my headAnd now I can restFor I
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Da Lyricist Physicist
I’m a lyricist physicistAnd I aimed for the starsI was told I need to aim highSo I could buy shiny carsAnd score golf parsBut I don’t know whyIt seems like quite the farceI let out a sighRealise that it’s all a lieBecause it’s all the sameIt’s all the sameReaching for fameJust look how lame I
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Gigiligolong
They call me the Gigiligolong. An entity of the deep. Upon the old I creep and put them to sleep…
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The Human Condition
The content expresses feelings of censorship and mental struggle faced by a musician. It reflects on themes of oppression, depression, and the conflict between truth and control. Despite being silenced, the speaker remains determined to express themselves, highlighting a tension between restriction and resilience. The message concludes with a warning of interception.
McDream's Poetry 