First of, just t' be absolutely clear:
1) We love the olympics
2) Chen runs about 6km a day
3) He isn't disabled, don't ask xD
Alright, so this piece was one o' our rejects from 'REAL WEEK', I think it's pretty obvious t' see why since it's WAAAAY over the top and borderline psychotic.
When working with real week we wanted t' bring across real emotions and obviously with this piece, it came across as far too...one track, it didn't display emotion...just rage and further more it was pointless rage, so it was pretty much rejected as soon as it was produced. We didn't even edit it at the time, but Chen did fix up the spelling issues (though he left the strange format as is).
Hopefully it'll give ye a comparison for Chen's more genuinely emotional pieces...as opposed to this xD
P.S. even the title is shite
Hopefully ye enjoyed this and if ye want, check out some o' tha Captain's official work;
I sit here waiting, in the coldest of cells
Outside I hear them screaming for blood
I know that they mean to kill me soon
Yet somehow my spirit remains resolved and calm
As they march me to the gallows, wrapped in chains
I grin knowingly as they force me to kneel
Each and every man in the audience, waits for this moment
They know that something is about to change!
An eldritch wind ripples through the air
And I can feel it wrapping around my beating heart
It makes me feel like breaking the conventions:
The ones that I've torn apart...
And as they make me bow before the guillotine
I can feel a sense of unrivaled exc
A Shattered Illusion
A Shattered Illusion:
A day that was born of the brightest light
Has now shattered like crystals in the sinking dark
Where once the spirit was unfettered and free
Now it weeps painfully in a cage of thorns
Blood is drawn from its tender flesh
And drips slowly down to mark the skin
A tattoo of pain forever remembered
By a ghost that lives within
There is emptiness in this void
A cold and lonely song of existence
A solemn note born from the sheer magnitude of the silence
That it deafens both the heart and mind
In the quiet serenity of utter despair
What is born from the lack of a sense of hope?
A cold determination to steal the f
Whispers of the Mad
Whispers of the Mad:
Your lips remain painted with the scars of torment
Carved so as to split with every word of speech
The glass that slices through your softened flesh
Bears the marking we know as 'Vinashuka'
And now he lies beneath the falling sand
Drowning in a world that is sinking away
Though his feet will seek the stability of ground
He finds himself caught by 'Vinashuka'
A disturbing word that rings hollow at best
For it carries the tone of a tainted solitude
A heart that has been corrupted by physical pain
Can only scream 'Vinashuka!'
How does a man know when he has gone insane?
To descend into a world where logic is na