Post by Wolfram-39 on Sept 10, 2017 23:31:52 GMT
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[attr="class","oplyrics"]drowning in desperation; my eyes burning red. taken by disconnected lust. feed, choke, despise. they prey upon us. our death of self-restraint. maggots, inhaling praise, make low my high. torn apart, all alone. sacred heart, made of | [attr="class","optext"]stone |
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The problem with the size of Tomodachi Island, in terms of what had become Wolfram-39's new career, was that it wasn't the best to support niche genres. Sure, it wasn't like he wasn't the only person on the island who connected with the raw emotion, driving bass, and complex melodies of metal, or even the only one who desired to play it. But it wasn't exactly a lucrative job. Not that he really needed the money for much else beyond food or rent; now that he had a guitar, amp, and microphone, he was pretty much set.
Still, to make ends meet required more than the occasional gig. And that meant one of two things; busking, or putting his fit body to use doing manual labour. Today, he opted for the former.
Of course, busking without the rest of the band not only limited the types of song he could play - not having a second guitar, drums, bass, or other vocalists really limited what he could make effective - but he also had to deal with noise complaints. Wolfram-39 allowed himself a wry grin as he finished setting up for the final song in his set before he breaked for a late lunch. Just because he wasn't about to scream himself completely hoarse didn't mean he had to provide his audience, willing and otherwise, with a feel-good song.
It began, as many songs do, with a powerful rhythm, Wolfram-39 forced to go without the more complex melodies, given his solo performance. When the lyrics began - powerfully sung but not screamed - they were not happy ones. An indirect accusation that the audience was blind and dying, and that the same was mostly true of himself.
"I! see the weight of hollow death; residing in you. Take now your final breath; exhale the truth. I see the fear of nothing left; dead fragments of youth. You hold it in yourself; I feel it too."
Singing bordered on, to the untrained ear, simply yelling into the microphone as he transitioned into the pre-chorus.
"I mourn your blindness; I die along; and swallow darkness," A short and sharp inhale of breath, before Wolfram-39 allowed his voice to lapse into deep and throaty yelling. "IN MISERY IS WHERE I BELONG!" Well, if someone wanted to complain, it wouldn't have been the first time. A pitch shift later, and he was back to singing, mentally cursing the lack of power the song had without the drums and bass thumping behind him. The chorus wasn't confrontational, really, more contemplative, though the music remained aggressive. "Collapsing in on yourself; I don't know why; I try. Collapsing in on yourself; I don't know why; you deny!" He held that note, throwing himself into the song, ignorant to how the listeners reacted, or if he was receiving any money at all.
The verses and choruses continued, and, with a guitar solo and one final delivery of the chorus, half of it acapella, the song ended, Wolfram-39 allowing the final strains of his voice and guitar linger. There was some scattered applause - he was relatively good at his craft after all - and he muttered a half-hearted thanks for listening into the mic before starting to take down his equipment. Hopefully he'd earned enough today to at least cover food.
@open
Notes: Lyrics adapted from Collapsing, by Demon Hunter
The problem with the size of Tomodachi Island, in terms of what had become Wolfram-39's new career, was that it wasn't the best to support niche genres. Sure, it wasn't like he wasn't the only person on the island who connected with the raw emotion, driving bass, and complex melodies of metal, or even the only one who desired to play it. But it wasn't exactly a lucrative job. Not that he really needed the money for much else beyond food or rent; now that he had a guitar, amp, and microphone, he was pretty much set.Still, to make ends meet required more than the occasional gig. And that meant one of two things; busking, or putting his fit body to use doing manual labour. Today, he opted for the former.
Of course, busking without the rest of the band not only limited the types of song he could play - not having a second guitar, drums, bass, or other vocalists really limited what he could make effective - but he also had to deal with noise complaints. Wolfram-39 allowed himself a wry grin as he finished setting up for the final song in his set before he breaked for a late lunch. Just because he wasn't about to scream himself completely hoarse didn't mean he had to provide his audience, willing and otherwise, with a feel-good song.
It began, as many songs do, with a powerful rhythm, Wolfram-39 forced to go without the more complex melodies, given his solo performance. When the lyrics began - powerfully sung but not screamed - they were not happy ones. An indirect accusation that the audience was blind and dying, and that the same was mostly true of himself.
"I! see the weight of hollow death; residing in you. Take now your final breath; exhale the truth. I see the fear of nothing left; dead fragments of youth. You hold it in yourself; I feel it too."
Singing bordered on, to the untrained ear, simply yelling into the microphone as he transitioned into the pre-chorus.
"I mourn your blindness; I die along; and swallow darkness," A short and sharp inhale of breath, before Wolfram-39 allowed his voice to lapse into deep and throaty yelling. "IN MISERY IS WHERE I BELONG!" Well, if someone wanted to complain, it wouldn't have been the first time. A pitch shift later, and he was back to singing, mentally cursing the lack of power the song had without the drums and bass thumping behind him. The chorus wasn't confrontational, really, more contemplative, though the music remained aggressive. "Collapsing in on yourself; I don't know why; I try. Collapsing in on yourself; I don't know why; you deny!" He held that note, throwing himself into the song, ignorant to how the listeners reacted, or if he was receiving any money at all.
The verses and choruses continued, and, with a guitar solo and one final delivery of the chorus, half of it acapella, the song ended, Wolfram-39 allowing the final strains of his voice and guitar linger. There was some scattered applause - he was relatively good at his craft after all - and he muttered a half-hearted thanks for listening into the mic before starting to take down his equipment. Hopefully he'd earned enough today to at least cover food.
@open
Notes: Lyrics adapted from Collapsing, by Demon Hunter
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