This is my poetry and lyrics page. Due to the fact that i'm a half-crazy, paranoid little f*** who's scared to death of plagiarizm (I don't CARE that it's probably spelled wrong!), I will only be posting snippets of my lyrics. In case you want me to post some of your work (You will be given credit, of course), or comment on my own, CirrusKahn@Musician.org is my E-mail address.
Note: All undated poems are dated between 1998-1999. I will specify the date whenever possible.
Saving Grace, Losing Face By myself, Cirrus Kahn, April 17, 2000. This is an excerpt from the song of the same name from my forthcoming demo, "Youre In My World Now."
Chances that we take, promises we break.
Searching for the cure, bleeding broken and sore.
Give up!
(No way i'm losing face now.)
Rise up!
(To the occasion with grace now.)
Look up!
(Find the key and the know-how.)
Voices that we use, trust we don't abuse.
Places in our head, left scarred bruised and dead.
Life Of Servitude by Twiggy Remotez
The poem at left, Life Of Servitude, was inspired by actual events.
My friends had a band back in the day, before it slit into two
seperate bands (Changing again in 2000), called Onslaught.
Sonny Eustace vocals, Flip drums, Lucas Borgeas bass, Eric
Rosenberger and Luke "E-hans" Palidora guitars. (E-hans would
later go on to move to Jersey, and was replaced by Enzo Lazzari,
and Eric would go on to be kicked out, and replaced by B.J. Kerwin) The band's sound was a mix of KoRn's and Nirvana's vocals, and Metallica's and KoRn's guitars. The practices were held at the drummer's (Flip
aka: Jon Filipowski) house, in his basement. He always had plenty
of cases of Pepsi, that everyone would partake of. I don't know how
it came about, but I began to be known as the "Human Remote" and
the "Universal B****." So every day there was band practice, there
I was, smoking and chugging with my friends as they kicked out loud
metal. Now every time someone would want a drink, I would ask if
anyone else wanted one. Then, I would retrieve the sodas and bring
them down to the basement, always making sure I had one for myself
as well, which I usually carried in my mouth. As I handed each
member their soda, I would say a phrase. Muffled by the can in my
mouth, it was an undecipherable mystery what I said. To this very
day, they still don't know what I was saying. Now every once in a
while, doing all this work for them, like untangling cords, assembling
drum sets, yadda yadda, would get to me. (Although to this day I
REALLY miss being the "Universal B****" for Onslaught) It was on
one of those depressed days that I wrote this poem. Now, alas, they
have split into the two bands, "Mellotrauma," (Sonny vocals, Enzo
guitars, B.J. guitars, drums, bass, and backing vocals.) and "Twisted
Breed." ( Jon "Munchy" Kunkler vocals, Robbie Rule guitars, Flip
drums, and Chris Florwick (#69 on the school football team) on bass.)
Both these bands are really good, Mellotrauma with a single-track
demo out, entilted "DB6," and another larger demo coming soon. Now, in 2000, Twisted Breed is Flip, Robbie, and Lucas. And The Lakadaisies are... well, go check em out at www.geocities.com/thelakadaisies. Munchy is now vocalist and keyboarder, and Chris goes by Crazy while playing bass for the band i'm in, PiCTURE THiS. (www.geocities.com/munchtwig)
Thank you for taking the time to read this story.
Twiggy smart and sensitive,
And oh so very cognative,
But he's a little tipsy,
She's a little flipsy.
So what should we do,
With our b**** Twiggy?
What'll we do, with our b**** Twiggy?
What'll we make our dumb wench do?
What'll we do, with our b**** Twiggy?
What's wrong Twig? Whatsa matter with you?
Just a little pretty b****,
It would never EVER snitch.
"What should we do now, Twiggy?"
"Why doncha think about FEEDING ME?!"
Clean the guitars, fix the drums.
Smoke some cigs, and feel like bums.
PEPSI, PEPSI! All around!
Thus his place, he has now found!
Hear the crackly, fizzy sound,
Watch as Pepsis are consumed,
Until the next Pepsi round,
Little b**** Twiggy...
is doomed.
Reasonable Doubt by Twiggy Remotez August 19 1998
The lies are ture, accusations stab through,
The truth is fake, whats left to do?
What do you do if you're trapped, dear friend?
What if there's no means for an end?
Question yourself, question authority,
Question yourself, ask; "Is this me?"
Questions pending,
Lies unending,
Morals bending,
What message are you sending?
Who are you to judge what I do?
What if I judged your big lie!?
What'll I do, and what will you say?
The choice is yours, but the future looks gray...
Think about what I have just said,
Carry it with you 'till the day you're dead...
Questions pending,
Lies unending,
Morals bending,
What s**t are you pretending!?
This poem was written as a song, to be sung to the
music of Onslaught's flagship song, Trust No One,
which both Mellotrauma and Twisted Breed both
still perform occasionally.
A Reason For Being by Twiggy Remotez January 31, 1996 This poem was dedicated to my old friend Christian.
What is our purpose, here on this Earth,
What are our jobs? what are we worth?
If we had a purpose, a reason for being,
Do we hear without hearing?
Do we see without seeing?
Is there a reason for all of Earths life?
To live through the sorrow, pain, and strife.
Would we all change, if we should find out,
Our reason for being, and accept it no doubt?
Waste of a Day (Sloth) by Twiggs Remotez fall of 1999
The name of this poem is kind of a misnomer, 'cause it's all about contentedness with inactivity, rather than laziness.
Rain taps unceasingly, incessantly, on my bedroom window,
almost drowning the subtle breath on my chest.
The monotonous inky shades of the sky seem to blot out my will to wrestle against sleep.
I'd rather stay here, nestled in the security of blissful solace,
enjoying the company of the warm body beside me.
The day looks fraught with hardship and tencity, unrest.
I don't feel like contending with the challenges of the day,
I don't feel like pretending,
I'm blind to volition,
Wasting away.....
Woma Chite (or Our Omega) by Twiggs Remotez 9/1\99
The arresting stare of mis-matched eyes
stops my breath,
scrambles my mind.
A glamorous mask of glitter and gold
replaces the darkness,
evil,
and mold.
A dead astronaut floating in space,
an inhuman freak,
with a sympathetic face.
He feels our pain and rises above,
leads us to glory,
sings us his love.
Moral: (Mechanical Proverb)
Sometimes the warmest of hearts lies deep within the most hideous of bodies.