Everything Spins Eventually
Current mood: content
Category: Writing and Poetry

It was spilled on the furniture on many occasions
And to be quite honest
The smell of beer never bother me
In fact, I kinda liked it
Bitter like coffee
Which I got addicted to at 8
But I didn't start drinking until I was 18
And it was because I was curious

I threw up into a plastic target bag

But that didn't stop me from trying again
Now,
I'm a little more tolerant
Whenever I'm buzzed and beyond
Everything spins in a forward
Ferris Wheel motion
Like doing perpetual
Slow motion front flips
Without ever leaving the ground
Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself
But addiction is a bad joke
Everyone knows
And I'm walking the punchline
My Grandpa died drinking
My Dad did Meth
My brother smoked weed
And now I enjoy a beer
Occasionally

Everything spins eventually

It's not enough to know I came from a long line of alcoholics
Addicts
Fiends
Bums
Criminals
I don't know
I could be a white sheep
In a field of black sheep
Endangered
Shaved of my wool
So some other fool
Can keep warm

Hedberg says
That if you count animals to fall asleep
Don't count endangered animals
"You will run out"

Everything, eventually

Commentary: It seems like, I never saw myself coming to this point. I never saw myself experiencing drunkenness. Never wanted to drink. Never wanted to smoke. Never interested in parties. A year ago, I'd have never touched a beer, a cigarette. But now, everything is completely different, I'm completely different. It seems like I've been the same person for so long. And I don't know why, or how it all changed... or maybe I do... I feel like I need to come to terms with myself in order to restore, who I used to be. I fell away from myself, but I'm coming back... eventually.

Copyright 2008 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : Past, Present & Future [w/ Bonus DVD] By Rob Zombie Release date: 2003-09-23

5:10 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Mitch Hedberg

Mitch Hedberg
One of my favorite comedians
Has this joke where he talks about chillin' in his hotel room
And he has a pad, and a pen
And whenever he thinks of something funny
He writes it down
Well,
If he's on his bed
And he thinks of something funny
But the pad and the pen are on the desk
He has to lay there and try to convince himself
That what he just thought of
Ain't funny

I can relate to that
There's alot of poetry to be had
But sometimes it's hard to find
They're alot like
Easter Eggs
Hidden in plain sight
Not everyone finds them all
You never know what's inside
A love poem
A political poem
A happy-go-lucky poem
An Angry
A sad
A descriptive
An Erotic poem
The occasional I-was-just-writing-my-thoughts-and-this-is-what-came-out poem
The forced poem
The funny poem
The poem about poems
Everyone writes one
Well,
Every "writer" at least
It's amazing how many "writers" I meet
I used to think that I was of a rare breed
But that's not true
I'm not some pen-wielding
Spoken word rebel prodigy
With anything more to say than the next guy
The revolution is not a war
and I am not a warrior
Writing is not an advanced technique
And I am not a superior mind
But everyone likes to think they're special
Or unique
But really
At the end of the day
When I'm laying down
Waiting for sleep
And a creative thought comes to me
But my pen and paper are on the desk
I just close my eyes
And try to convince myself that what I just thought of
Ain't creative

Commentary: I was reading Bukowski recently. I like his work. He makes poetry out of simple life moments. He makes me see poetry in alot more things. I wrote this poem after reading half of Slouching Toward Nirvana. They're just... thoughts, ha.
P.S.: R.I.P. Mitch, R.I.P. Charles.

Copyright 2008 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things By Jason Mraz Release date: 2008-05-13

10:38 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Calligraphy
Category: Writing and Poetry

Everything is moving
The sun passes over the earth like a yoyo trick
There are stars, planets, satellites, airplanes
In the night sky
And the occasional pebble sized meteorite that burns up before it can taste fresh air
We call these shooting stars
There are helicopters over the city
Flocks of birds of every color migrating from one telephone wire to the other
Rivers of electricity run through these wires to connect calls, and provide power to
Whatever
There's a small child somewhere right now
Watching these wires from the backseat of his parents car
Dip in and come back up
Maybe he imagines riding these wires like a skateboarder rides curbs and rails
There's nothing much else to do on his long trip home
For each mile the boy travels, he is one mile older than he was before
Nickel and diming his way into maturity
Just one mile means nothing, but it builds up over time
Time is life's compound interest
Takes our time over time until there's no more time to give
Life's a bitch, shit happens, and then we die
But, that's not always a bad thing
Everything is moving
Before my eyes
The smoke curls like cursive from the cherry of my addiction
So I pretend I'm smoking calligraphy
I close my eyes and embrace the spinning motion
And I wonder what it's telling me
Ya know, I don't even like doing this
I don't like the way it makes me feel
I don't like what it's doing to my body
(Then why don't you quit?)
I said don't like it, I never said I would quit
(Then why do you do it?)
…Well, why does anyone do anything that they don't like, when they don't have to?
(To hurt themselves?)
Or for the attention
Not that I'm looking for the attention, but I don't mind it either
I always said I'd never start smoking
I always said I'd never do anything I saw my father do
He looked so empty whenever he did anything
It's like he would inhale the cigarette, and exhale a piece of himself with it
He wasn't doing it for the attention; his addictions only warranted the attention of the police
Mine warrants the concerns of my peers
And since they know I don't do this for the attention
It can only be
(To hurt myself)
But why would I want to do that?
I like to believe I'm a happy person
I have a handful of friends that I don't deserve
Incredible people, people who would do anything for my well being
I have a place to live, food to eat, clean water to drink
I have my music, everything I need to create
But I'm not hurting myself because I'm happy
It's not uncommon for a human being to want more
More than just himself
More than what he can see in himself
And I like to think I'm a romantic
But I've also been pretty lonely
For a pretty long time
And I'm only human, it's silly to let it get to me but
It does
My father was lonely as well
I always said that I'd never do anything my father did
But here I am
Just me
Watching everything moving
Right before my eyes

Commentary: So, I started smoking. Not recently, it started with hookah about a year ago. A few months ago, I started trying Black and Milds, never inhaling them, that I started doing recently. When I was in New York I started smoking a lot more, and my addictions expanded into cigarettes. Cloves, specifically. I guess this is my explanation as to why. Why I do the things I said I'd never do.

Copyright 2008 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : Make Yourself By Incubus Release date: 1999-10-26

12:15 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

The Starless Nothing
Current mood: nostalgic
Category: Writing and Poetry

It's a nice evening
The sun is gone but the light pollution remains
It casts a dull glow on the atmosphere
Like it doesn't want to be there, but it has no choice
And the stars in the sky are absent
I'm not wearing my glasses
And if I stand up, I can see the entire city
Fantastic and blured
A product of my slight nearsightedness

I'm sitting in a leather chair older than I am
In front of me rests a glowing pink flamingo
I listen to the crickets sing
They sing at night because the birds do all the singing during the day
On evenings like these they seem like nightly apparitions
Ghosts of a beautiful memory, now songs of phantoms over the barking of dogs

I lean back and look at the almost dark sky
Scarcely littered with scattered dim stars
They cast a lonely radiance through the faded black veil
As if wanting to be there, but having no choice
The rest of them have fallen
All the stars are on the ground nowadays

I close my eyes and imagine dying
Peaceful, with singing and light all around me
The first thing I think after dying is
"At least I don't have to work anymore"
Then I think of my best friends, a fleeting image, a moment of memory

And then
I think of
Her
She lingers on my mind from time to time
Just wanders into my thoughts like
An unannounced, unwanted guest
But I'm glad she's here still
I wonder why I can't write a more sincere poem about her
I can't put into words how I actually feel
But I tried
I wrote to her, a folded note on torn notebook paper
A short message written in poetry
The words are sloppy and if studied carefully you can see how the words flow like rough and rocky roads
Words written by shaking hands
I am those words I can't remember now, but the words are not important
The experience is the best description of my feelings
I held her hand, beneath a smoggy blue sky

I am resentful sometimes
I sometimes blame myself for being so affected by her
And for all the awkward encounters
And for all the awkward conversations
I should have no resentments
I know that's not her fault
My bitternesses derive from selfish behavior
The anger of knowing that I want so badly what I can't have

I don't blame anyone
I just think about
Her eyes that burn the back of my mind in a way similar to how grass would burn
Her voice that pearces into my ears like frequencies some people can't hear
Her touch that creates a sensation comparable to pain but it doesn't hurt
It should be her that I'm talking to instead of just myself

I look up at the sky and see more stars and for a moment I smile
But then I realize they are just Airplanes but I keep on smiling
I am the victim of some sort of divine prank
I see a bright one slowly gliding in and out of view through the blurry silhouette of a tree
I close eyes and I imagine being abducted by aliens
I imagine being swept away from the earth
Looking through a large window
Watching our little blue, blurry, planet getting smaller
And smaller
And smaller
And smaller
And Singing "Come Sail Away
Come Sail Away"
And the last thing I see before venturing off into the starless nothing
Is her face
Just as silent, as the surviving constellations
But clear as crystal
Sharp as shrapnel

I open my eyes and I'm on my back porch again
In a black leather chair, older than I
I contemplate the hopeless romantic I think I am
I try again to find words for a poem about her
But nothing sounds right, not even this, but
It's a comfortable evening to be here
Nonetheless

Commentary: This is another old poem I've decided to post. I tried to convey what the world looks like through nearsighted eyes, but the whole thing is simply a ramble of thoughts that presented themselves one night as I was just chillin on my back porch. This poem has gone through many revisions, rewordings, rearrangements, and what-not's. It's more or less one of my more favorite poems, and I hope you enjoy it as well.

Copyright 2007 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : Sleep Through The Static By Jack Johnson Release date: 2008-02-05

5:04 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Morning Person
Current mood: nostalgic
Category: Writing and Poetry

I wake up three times each morning
The first time just to get my eyes open
I hit snooze and fall back to sleep
15 minutes later, my alarm goes off again
And this time I hit snooze out of sheer laziness
15 minutes later, my alarm goes off again
I sit and listen for a while before finally shutting it off

Once again
I stretch
I yawn
Wipe the crust from my eyes and crack my back
I get out of bed
Get dressed
Brush my teeth
Sometimes I shave but only when it really bothers me
And I shower at night
I don't like to go half the day with damp hair
I don't brush it either
I wake up with this mess and that's how I wear it

I've fallen into a monotonous plane of existence where the only thing that's different about today
Is that I have a canker soar forming behind my upper lip
My life is a busted record and I'm the needle
Tearing canyons deeper into the waxy crevasses
Forced to play the same stupid chorus
To the same stupid song that I didn't even choose to listen to

I walk
I walk heavily to the bus stop
I wait heavily and watch as other pasty-faced morning drones such as myself
Drearily make their way up the same stupid hill
To wait heavily for the same ridiculous bus
We almost seem to materialize from the morning fog, and empty roads
Under the control of some invisible line that we have to walk

We're empty
We run on premium habit
But we also resort to alternative fuels
My friend, Micheal, has a sandwich and a cigarette every morning
A good guy, kinda racist, but he does it to prove a point,
At least that's what he says, he calls it being "racist for equality"
He makes some raunchy jokes sometimes
And always talks shit about his family
White trash in many senses of the phrase

We might as well be the only two guys there's
The other ones hang their sleepy heads and plug their ears with earphones
Leashes of the newest generation of iPods
They look so whipped

And then, of course, there's Ana
A homemade smoothie in one hand
A guitar shaped purse in the other
A certain glow to her skin that only morning can produce
A soft moistness to her medium brown cinnamon hair
She smiles
I wave
I smile
She waves
She drinks her smoothie
I can't see her eyes beneath her large framed sunglasses
But if I could, I'm sure they would be glowing like her skin

I run on 100% French pressed Italian Roast Coffee
My Favorite!
The color resembles the skin of an ex girlfriend of mine
Dark and Rich
Smooth to the touch
Both have a way of keeping my eyes open

It's like we have our addictions closer to out souls than our passions
Our fix comes first, and then we work
I sip my coffee, he drags on his cigarette, she drinks her smoothie
There's a pattern
There's gotta be a pattern
I close my eyes and wait for an alarm to go off

And then, Bree shows up
Another very attractive girl type drone
She shares a cigarette with James
She's nice, but she has bad habits
Like being with guys that hit her
Like giving the impression that everything is ok
But you can tell, you can see it
In each step, in each drag, in each thing she projects from her mouth
Let it be words, smoke, or spit
It's all been poisoned

I sigh
I smile
I wave
She exhales a cloud of poison into the air
Her eyes look at me heavily
She smiles
She waves
(There's a pattern)

She has a cute smile because she has a brown scar beneath her right eye
It kinda compliments her face
And sometimes I'll stare into her eyes and stroke her scar
Gently, so as not to startle her
And at the same time let her know that I care
She smiles
Takes my hand
Squeezes and lets go
I know she likes it, no one else shows her compassion like I do

The bus finally shows up
5 Minutes late again
Empty like the four of us
Micheal me and the other guys stand in a line next to the door to let the ladies go first
Then they let me in after
"Age before beauty" they tell me

When we're all in the same seats as every other day
In the same stupid position
In the same air of emptiness
In the same ridiculous level of loneliness
I put on my headphones
Close my eyes
And pretend I can't hear it when the bus leaves
Once again
I wait for an alarm to go off

Commentary: Monotony is one of my biggest turn offs in life. School, and work, and even friendships and relationship can, and will, become monotonous. It is one of the few certainties of life. And like monotony, those who are trapped in it, become just as dull and somber. So, in honor of monotony, here is a poem that happened almost everyday for four years.

P.S. I wrote this poem about a year ago. I don't know why I didn't post it sooner. All the names of the characters have been changed to protect them from, whatever.

Copyright 2008 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : Human the Death Dance By Sage Francis Release date: 2007-05-08

12:39 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Bittersweet Brookyn
Current mood: calm
Category: Writing and Poetry

Bittersweet Brooklyn welcomed me with open skies in the late afternoon
And I would have been more grateful if she had worn more deodorant
Brushed her knots out,
Maybe even shaved a little but
I guess it's the thought that counts

The rusted skyline fades in the west
While a thunderstorm cracks incandescent lightning bolts at the east
The rumble of trucks in their journeys through the streets of Brooklyn
And for an insignificant moment
I envy them
For they have a destination
And I am already here

I sit halfway out of the third story apartment window
Hoping the nighttime air would embrace me
Instead the midday Summer humidity
Left behind in the Afternoon's retreat
Smog, and heat, and sweat, cover the city
I can feel it on my skin
In my eyes
And it smells like
Dying atmosphere
I look up and I notice that LA and NY
Share the same faded black fabric sky
That does nothing much but receive our light
And gives none back
The moon must be pretty lonely
Waiting for God to pinhole constellations
To make shapes with
To make stories with
To shed some light on a city that already believes it is enlightened
But florescence cast no shadows
and if they can't even do that
Then what the hell can they really know
Besides being artificial

Soon after, Brooklyn blankets me with electric clouds
That only manage to trap heat beneath them
"Brooklyn," I say, "You really shouldn't have."
But she accepts it as a "thank you" anyway
I can never be facetious enough for this city

Exhausted but not quite fatigued
I smoke a Black and Mild and sip a Heineken
I do not usually smoke this much
But it feels appropriate
I might as well share toxic halitosis
If the city and I are gonna be breathing each other
But my cancer tastes much better than her's

Brooklyn starts to cry into my Lager but I sip it just the same
I was once told that the human body
Was never intended to intake alcohol
And if done so, then subconsciously,
You must have no will to live
"Maybe that's true," I whisper to the ground
Two windows down
I guess that's why they would call it "Livin' it up"
Those who party while saying, You only live once
They're essentially living to die
They "Live it up" till there's nothing left
The sky rumbles a little bit
"Don't worry," I say
"I wouldn't want to die in your arms anyway"

~GunMetal

Commentary: My visit to Brooklyn was, as described, bittersweet. It was definitely something new and welcomed, in that, it's the farthest I've ever been from home, it's a spectacular change of scenery, and I've always waned to go to New York. The first night I was there, a thunderstorm strolled over New York. The whole thing felt like a daydream, and really i couldn't have asked for a better first night in Brooklyn. Soon after though, I lost my wallet, so I was broke the whole time. But it's cool, I don't regret anything, and I want to go back soon, this time with money, and more time. There's still so much the east coast has to offer me.

Copyright 2008 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : Ghosts I - IV By Nine Inch Nails Release date: 2008-04-08

11:21 AM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

A Letter to my Little Brother
Current mood: Reminiscent
Category: Reminiscent Writing and Poetry

You remember when we were kids
And our teachers couldn't tell us apart
And we thought they were idiots
Because you had short straight hair, and I had puffy curly hair
I remember the other kids calling it a half-fro
And I hated it
And remember how we would tell people we were twins
Because no one could tell us apart
You're a Gemini
And I'm your twin
Remember how we were each other's best and only friends, remember
Remember how whenever I broke up with a "girlfriend"
You would start dating her
And this went on until 7th grade
Remember when we would see who could climb trees the fastest
And I always won
But when we would play a match of Super Smash Bros.
(Instead of flipping a coin to decide who should do the dishes)
You always won
But the match lasted an hour on five stocks
I gave you a run for your money
Remember when we got into our first fight in the backyard
And we never really hit each other it was more like wrestling
And when we finished we just looked at each other and started laughing
Remember how we still laugh
Little brother, I remember you
My memory's not so great but I remember how we were close
The shit
The Steffen Brothers
There was nothing we couldn't get away with together
The child that I grew up with drifted off slowly into the breeze
And I close my eyes, and try to ignore the smoke
But I can only hold my breath for so long
The curse of needing to breathe
Was it worth it?
The drugs, the sex, the experiences

Eventually we started fighting
We couldn't seem to agree on our attitudes toward each other
Your temper got short, my words became sharp
So eventually, there were conflicts
Simple rationality turned to painful arguments
Undemanding suggestions were taken as insults and fights became more frequent
And we weren't laughing anymore
We gave each other scars
We stopped talking for months on end
And when we did talk, the words were broken
You couldn't stand how everyone told me how much better I turned out than you
Like I give a shit what they think
You got insulted at jokes that we used to tell as kids
They were funny back then, do you remember?

I wasn't there when you got kicked out of the house
I called you, confronted you, and you reacted with anger
But I told you that I won't make you come back, that's on you
I still have some of that childhood respect for you
I hope you remember
Remember when we were kids
And I was the one who wanted to run away
And you made me stay
You taught me to take criticism in a constructive manner
You taught me to have patience more than I had with you
You taught me to look at my imperfections and erase them
But most importantly, you taught me that I only have one brother
And I will always remember him
I love you, bro

~GunMetal

No Commentary

Copyright 2008 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : Fight Club: Original Motion Picture Score By The Dust Brothers Release date: 2001-09-06

5:50 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Make Me A Poem
Current mood: exotic
Category: Writing and Poetry

In the dark of an open mic
I watch your silhouette watch the poet on stage
And I imagine caressing the inspiration that you breathe with the tips of my fingers in a circular motion
Like trying to create a hurricane on my palm
So the eye can see the storm on your poem
And get jealous
I want to trace your outline with my tongue
And taste the way God sketched your perfection on a notebook of flesh and bone and nerve
Your fresh poetic verve wreaks havoc on my mind
And weakens my words into a consistent stutter
I want to scale your curves until I reach the summit of your soul
I want to be able make love to you like my pen can make love to this paper
But I can't seem to love like my pen because my pen can tell this paper exactly how I feel
And I can't seem to find the courage to tell you that I'm
Attracted to you
In a serious way
In a way that's more logic than lust
Because you're far too complex to just be in love with
I'm attracted to you

I want you to piece me together with the broken letters of a foreign alphabet
So that it reads something only you and I can understand
"I want you so bad"
I want you to write me into your poetry
Expel me from your pen like ink onto the sheets of your paper
Read me over and over until I reach the climax of my orgasmic rhetoric
And keep me tucked within the libraries of your mind so we can be intimate even in your imaginations
I want my words to turn you on

Make me a poem
Make me into your words, your breath
Make me the reason you breathe
Like you don't need any more explanation
Make me your exhalation
I want to fill your book with my lines
And secrete poetry from your spine
And through your legs like
Performing on stage like

Let's, bend the lines on paper with our unity
Let's get tangled in telephone wires in an electric intercourse
And feel the current between our legs make our hair stand on end
As sheets of electricity brush our skin and burns it away
Revealing the epiphany within our veins
So powerful that the world is impregnated with our passion
And we give birth to the Age of the Aquarius

I want you so bad
I want you to be the last person I ever touch
I want your gaze to send ripples through my body
As I swim in your eyes to reach the color of your soul
And paint the world with it
Let's dance like pens on paper
Dance on paper
Dance on paper
Let's dance on a stage of paper
Dance on Paper
Dance on Paper

~GunMetal

Commentary: After seeing Tshaka Campbell perform at Urbane Culture in Ontario (See Open Mic list on my page for more details), I went home and started writing to his CD. Well, when the poem Press On Me came on, this poem came out. This is about as Erotica as I get, and I hope you find it sexy. It's definitely a side of me that's been eager to express it's self but I haven't found the inspiration until now. Let me know what you think.

Copyright 2008 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : It Won’t Be Soon Before Long By Maroon 5 Release date: 22 May, 2007

5:35 AM - 8 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Hope

Ok
ok
ok
ok
I may never have this opportunity again
to tell you how I feel
to be more than a friend
But you terrify me
more than I can conceal
of what the future may be
And how all this should end
I've been preparing for a dream I've always been falling asleep to
And I've been practicing your song
From the bottom of my heart
And I've been practicing my smile
To pictures of you
Because I know how you'll smile
I know how you'll look at me
Sweet as Honey
And it hurts to know that you've cried from those eyes before
It hurts to know that you've felt pain
So I'm practicing this song
Just preparing for a dream I can't just yet relate to
Singing to photos of you
Pixelized and Digitalized
Edited and crafted
You're a breathing piece of art
And I don't understand why your picture is displayed in pixels
So inferior to your image
When you should be displayed in paint
In colors that can only be blended from your imagination
In strokes of paint brushes
Instead of strokes of my mouse pointer
Caressing your pixelized hair
I want to be your artist
I want to be your dream
I want to be what you fall asleep to
And I want you to know that it's ok
ok
ok
ok
Because I may never have this opportunity again
to tell you how I feel
To be more than a friend
but you terrify me
more than I can conceal
of what the future may be
And how all this should end
I've been preparing for hope
I never really lost it
But I don't really trust it either
I just have to try
I have to
So that I can prepare for a dream
That I always wake up to

~GunMetal

Commentary: This poem was written in a fit of passion and desire. I'm obviously smitten with this girl this poem is my way of expressing how I feel. Which isn't anything new, that's how poetry should be written. Write what you feel, write what you know.
Right now all I know is that I want to be with this girl. So bad. But one can only hope...

Copyright 2007 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : A to B: Life By Mewithoutyou Release date: 18 June, 2002

5:42 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Lessons (Song Lyrics)
Category: Writing and Poetry

Lessons

[Verse 1]
I've been the grass that was your bed
I'm the soil soft a place to rest your head
I was the shade to blanket you
I was not the sun light summer tries to use

The wind that kept you occupied
And swept your hair up from your eyes
Never do I want to see you crying
Doing nothing's all it is
Comfortable silences
Hold my hand and tell me that I'm lying

[Chorus 1]
What do you think of me?
What am I worth to you?
If you tell me I'm a liar then I'll tell you that it's true
I know what I think of you
Know what you're worth to me
You're a song I tried to write but simply couldn't sing

[Verse 2]
I am the way I held your hand
When I tried to teach you how to strum guitar
I used it as a guide for you
These are lessons that only come from my heart

I am the strings I am the sound
The metronome our hearts would pound
Laughing like it doesn't really matter
Saying nothing, wasting time
Wandering for trees to climb
Overall I never have been better

[Chorus 2]
What am I worth to you?
What do you think of me?
Try and tell me that I'm wrong when I swept you off your feet
I know what I think of you
Know what you're worth to me
You're a song I tried to write but simply couldn't sing

[Bridge]
And I'll catch you if you fall
Because I can be the net
And you'll be my breath of air
When I need to catch my breath
And I'd say all in all
I'm thankful that we met
We are those dreams we can't recall
But never can forget
How we felt

[Chorus 1]
What do you think of me?
What am I worth to you?
If you tell me I'm a liar then I'll tell you that it's true
I know what I think of you
Know what you're worth to me
You're a song I tried to write but simply couldn't sing

~GunMetal

Commentary: This is a gift to a beautiful friend of mine. The lyrics describe a moment we shared together, a moment which I'll never forget. I'm in the process right now of writing music for this song, and I hope to sing it to her one day. =). Merry Christmas.

Copyright 2007 by Nicholas Steffen

Currently listening : Songs About Jane By Maroon 5 Release date: 25 June, 2002

8:43 AM - 5 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment