AboutI am currently in the mood to writing songs.
My friend started talking about bands, and naming ours Necrosis. Which is a pwn'some name, you all ********' know it.
So I got inspired and wrote some songs.
The first I am going to post is called Ants.
Read and please, feel free to tell me what you think. I will put new songs up as they come.
I will be changing the song to my next song I wrote, Contraptions for A Playdate, will be up sooner or later. >__>
Yes I was contemplating before making a band called Danse to Death, but I am easily distracted. And Necrosis is a cooler name.
Main Entry: ne·cro·sis
Inflected Form(s): plural ne·cro·ses /-"sEz/
Etymology: Late Latin, from Greek nekrOsis, from nekroun to make dead, from nekros dead body
: usually localized death of living tissue
PS. If anyone here is an artist, and has a deviantart page, please, contact me if you do commissions, or even just want Gaia gold for a commission, I would like to talk about art for Necrosis. n_n. Please note, the image would contain blood, and things that some may find questionable and some things that may offend you. So if you are going to offer art, please, be open minded.
In a cherry colored room
Cottons minds are filled with heat.
Plastic burning beneath the sheets.
A lover of the contraptions of
Speeding down the isles of a tragic mind
trapt in limbo.
I am loving my contraptions
as they make contractions
giving birth to the aching
bulbous life that forms within a human body
a virutous state of contemplations.
Where baited words
lure a foolish traveler to eat his soul.
A foot for a foot
shameless we chant the contures of
Laughter plays the exhaling breath of
dancing pale moon flesh upon our skin.
Sitting on my bone throne
a sex demon in a saintly god's body
resting on a cackling
conversing pile of cadavers.
I look down a single tubed eye and smile
for the grains of drugs in my blood
bring shameless hearts a heightened sense of
languid spears through the gasy body.
Colder shivers on the spinal cord
cerebral cortex in dissary on a mother
of a child with
the stench of what is
Contemplation and expectation make my
Tubes and vines in
down the throat.
Concentrated milligrams of seeping
murder pushed down,
choking on a hope.
The stomach full of ants,
resisting the patterns of formailty.
Royal flush of the human anatomy.
Heart is a tart.
Giggling at my words.
The acetaminophen brings
me a giggling lurch into a future we all love
because our minds are picked.
I loose control of my flight,
my plane comes crashing down.
The flames are upon my skin.
Words like people
in the dead of night laced clothing
tear as we stretch
out our eyes,
muscles jerking to and frow
melting plastic burning in the sheets.
I am dreaming to be a ballarina.
Care to join
comoatose child in the wheel chair,
pressing buttons with his tongue, because fingers are gone.
I understand the lack of
alaphabet makes life simple.