the music that was once nothing is now a part of me
1996 – RJC
The king is on the thrown,
with his love by his side.
The fool keeps talking,
while the jesters hide.
The jokers tell jokes,
could they be real.
The fiddler plays the fiddle,
is it love that they feel.
The music makes a different sound,
as the children begin to play.
The sun moves to different place,
to light up another day.
The dawn moves on,
and I can barely see.
The music that was once nothing,
is now apart of me.
fly away today
1994 – RJC
A sense of fire was the only word
to stop the flame would be to stop the world.
Sitting on the lookout as the smoke begins to rise,
the bright shining of the fire begins to cloud my eyes.
A sense of beauty was all I could hold
to stop the aging because the beauty is growing old.
Leaning on the bed post, as the passion fills the sky
the aging goes on, and the beauty begins to die.
A sense of air, was floating in the sky
to stop walking would cause my life to fly.
Lying on the hillside as the land slips away
to help the land from sliding
would mean to fly away today.
playing in the game
1995-RJC
Their seems to be an untold story,
of lies and hiding the truth.
I remember when I wrote this story I was hiding
in the shadow of youth.
I can’t tell you why we do it,
but it always seems the same.
If I am not living life to live,
then I am playing in the game.
The ball is hard and crucial,
and sometimes it takes your all.
The lies are deadly and tiresome,
when you are standing beware of the fall.
But if you play just pure and simple,
trying to win at the chances that you take,
then look out to the future,
If it’s not theirs’ then it’s your heart to brake.
I wish I knew of some way to tell you,
that my thoughts come out of love.
But you are to busy with your playing,
that when you are down there is no above.
If I use the ball to my advantage,
then I will not make the same mistakes.
I will through it at your innocence.
So it is not mine,
but your heart that brakes.
I am sorry about this story,
and how it has to end.
But the truth was never made for glory,
because now I am not even your friend.
I wish that we could be honest,
and tell the simple truth.
If we could only hide the lies that we learned ,
in the innocence of our youth.
cannonball faded youth
1993 -RJC
Hey what about that story
of the cannonball faded youth
where they all tried to fight for glory
and the minimal side of the truth.
And they tell me about that teacher
who fought for the side they choose,
but the folks where busy mocking the preacher
with the faded hopes that they would loose.
So they left it up to the children
to fix the city that they brought down
but the children where to bust killing eachother
as they watched the town burn to the ground.
But a few fought for survival
as the cannonballs faded there youth
they all went and built bonds with there rivals
they made there life the living proof.
A big bang goes another hand grenade
a big bong goes another drum
a big statue was made for the truths that they made
as they danced naked under the sun.
so let’s tip our hats to the boys
and the girls of this faded youth
they don’t need no modern toys
as they face the lies we called the truth
1993 -RJC
I kind of have to agree with Mark Twain when he said that feels bad for a man who is so limited that he can only spell a word one way. |  |
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