This is a story about a bitter artist/writer who is struggling to accept that you can't win all the time in life. Learning the valuable lesson hidden inside one's potential failures is the key to growing as an artist.
lyrics
You judged my words,
But it's absurd,
Of course, there must be a winner,
Amongst the herd.
But for months we never even heard.
Until the wound I felt,
Receiving that email,
Like a champion fighter losing their belt.
That was just the hand I was dealt.
For a moment there, my hope started to fade,
As those dreams melt.
But I don't except that.
Words don't stop as soon as they reach the board.
You are not the ones that guard,
The creative doors.
Writing sympathetic letters to heal up the sores,
It doesn't even feel genuine anymore.
But do you know what?
My pen and mind is full of so much more.
You can't grade art,
I don't want your f**king score.
I wish the winner the very best of luck,
I was trying to climb that mountain,
And I guess I got stuck.
But I clean my shoes from all that, shit and muck,
And suck it all up.
Maybe my words were too hard to read,
Maybe when spoken aloud your ears began to bleed,
Was it a pitch-black dark seed?
Planted deep?
Poetry is hard to digest,
When the darkness decides to feed.
And sinister shape shifters start to manifest.
As distress slowly starts to creep,
Darkness like a thick fog with fingers,
Hijacking your sleep.
You can no longer count the sheep,
As their all lying there in a bloody heap.
Welcome to my world, as I give you peek.
It's time to meet with those demons,
And play hide and seek.
Words aren't all sunshine and rainbows,
Some souls are sadly freaks.
When it's about people using needles,
Whose brains and lives are incomplete.
They seek escape just so they can breathe.
A world of pain that's too hard to see.
But that's just how some souls handle their stress as they disrobe from their dignity.
Life is best when they're out of their heads,
Living on cloud nine.
My story wasn't for you.
And that's fine!
Maybe another story,
Maybe some other time.
I don't want to offend my words,
That would be a crime.
By placing them back into your hands,
My poetry speaks for itself,
To those souls,
Empathetic enough,
To truly understand.
credits
from Strong Enough To Break,
released May 20, 2022
Written and performed by Andrew Horner
Original Music by Tomás Almeida / Eleven Tales
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