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Amanda M. Blake

~ Of fairy tales and tentacles

Amanda M. Blake

Tag Archives: not a poet

We are the Enemy 2.0

17 Monday May 2021

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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lyrics, not a poet, poem, social justice, songwriting

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I posted a simpler, cleaner version of WE ARE THE ENEMY last year, but I’ve revisited the first version and decided that, though it has some similar lines, it has a few different kinds of things to say. I’m battling a lot of feelings that are bigger than me, so big I can barely put them into words. I decided to borrow, for now.

WE ARE THE ENEMY 2.0

Truth, justice, and the American way
Heroes fly with stars and stripes, red and blue and white
It’s all okay at the end of an American day
How we do it doesn’t matter if we’re right.

God bless America, we’re right, so we must be good
And if we’re good, we can’t be wrong
And if we can’t be wrong, we do what we should
We do what we should, with an oath and a song.

We are the villains in too many stories
And not just those of those we condemn
We think power makes us strong
And strength gives us the right to win.

That because we are strong, we must be good
That because we are good, we must be free
But look at what we do, look at what we’ve made of you and me
We are the enemy.

Holding the unfinished in steel claws
While buildings crumble to the ground
Our words are sacred, absolute oaths
Never to be torn, burned, or bound.

All without words spoken, without the mark
Can fall to the conviction of our words
Our deeds are counted by the cruelties dealt
Cards we call good, the right of the sword.

I never thought I’d see the day
I never thought I’d see the day
When there were people we didn’t need to save
Sacrificed because they had the wrong name
Because they didn’t play the right game
Or didn’t resist wrong the right way.

I never thought I’d see the day
Until the day I knew it had been here all along
Trails of tears, trails of blood
Stepping on the bodies of innocents
To climb to the top and tell ourselves
It’s our day, our sun
Because we’re the ones casting the shadow
We never put down the sword or the word
There was never depth too low for us to go
As we cursed those casting shade in the shadow we made.

Because here I thought we were trying
Instead of lying and calling it truth
Instead of executions called justice out of court
Instead of pride for an American way
That’s always been the American way.

I knew we were bad. I thought we were better.

We are the villains in too many stories
And not just those of those we condemn
We think power makes us strong
And strength gives us the right to win.

That because we are strong, we must be good
That because we are good, we must be free
But look at what we do, look at what we’ve made of you and me
We are the enemy.

We are the Enemy

30 Wednesday Dec 2020

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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can't breathe, coronavirus, lyrics, not a poet, poem, racism, social justice, songwriting

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I haven’t gotten many songs written this year, because I’ve felt too strongly for anything to coalesce into something substantial. But I managed to put something into words, things I’m afraid of saying, but it’s done. The sickness hasn’t quite left my chest yet, but it’s done.

WE ARE THE ENEMY

We thought we were heroes
We tried to be
We wanted to be
We said we were good
We said we were free
Free to be good
Free to be bad
We could choose the we that we wanted to be
We made the choice
We decided not to see
We made it from the start
We were and are and ever will be
We thought we were heroes
We are the enemy.

We’re the heroes of our story
The greatest country
In the smallest world
Built with blood money
Grown from flesh seeds
Of brown cocoa
And black coffee
Of corn and cotton under a chopped cherry tree
We deny responsibility
If it wasn’t personally
When under other names
Still degradation of humanity
We thought we were heroes
We are the enemy.

Never villains of our story
Inconceivable that we’d ever be
Treason to even claim
Unpatriotic, unthinkable treachery
That means we won’t listen
No longer have to hear
No longer have to see
We’re villains if our villains do the same things
We condemn the evil deeds
In a mirror, cry deniability
If we say it enough times
We think everyone will believe
We thought we were heroes
We are the enemy.

Stab a knife in the high ground
And dig two graves
One the bed we made
The other the dead we laid
Layers and layers tall
We say they make us feel small
And that the bed we made
Isn’t comfortable at all
There’s only so many times
To deny that we fall
And to pretend that we would never
Have been a villain, too, through it all.

If we say it enough times
We think everyone will believe
In what we say
Instead of what they see
We thought we were heroes
We are the enemy.

Throwback: Vultures

05 Friday Jun 2020

Posted by amandamblake in Poetry, Writing

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lyrics, not a poet, oppression, poem, racism, social commentary, social justice, songwriting, systemic racism

File under “Sometimes I get mad.” I wrote this last year as an indictment against systemic racism, from incarceration to economic opportunity, set in a reimagined world of non-human animals. Because what can I say, I watch a lot of Disney.

VULTURES

Scavengers caught in cages
Different stages of difficult phases
Fangs filed, claws clipped
To the bone, wings snipped.

Ribs press against skin
As spectators stare in
At beasts who never stood a chance
And never stand a chance again.

Fresh apples in dead mouths
Fresh blood, draining down
Decaying flesh, begging hand unfurled.
When did vultures get to rule the world?

Gold glints in their eyes
Black velvet circling the skies
Safe from the kill, prey the predator’s own.
When did vultures get to rule the world?

Beasts of work, beasts of burden
Unburdened by strain of security
Best to stay low to the ground
Better to maintain the purity.

Hungry eyes, the grass is greener
Where it isn’t needed.
What’s a hare to do
With something to care for, my dear?
Just another bit of roadkill.
No one’s crying, my dear.

Carrion desiccation
Unrepentant desecration
Each poor dying soul strung like a pearl.
When did vultures get to rule the world?

Everything collapses
And dignity lapses
There’s always dissatisfaction
For them to feast upon
A battered, bloody violent reaction
For them to feast upon
As though it doesn’t matter
Which beast they feast upon.

And the predators know
To leave a generous share.
Let the thoroughfare war
Over whether it’s fair.

There’s always more dead to go around.
Always something to blame farther down on the ground.
When did vultures get to rule the world?
When did vultures get to rule the world?

Entertaining Devils

08 Friday May 2020

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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lyrics, not a poet, poem, social commentary, social justice, songwriting

ancient architecture art carved stones

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

File this under “Sometimes I Get Mad.”

ENTERTAINING DEVILS

They say demons that tempt you walk in deserts
And the deserts are expanding all the time
Tumbleweeds are our new unit of measure
We just passed the last rusted street sign.

They say there’s gold in them there hills
At night, you hear cries and flashing lights
The moths flock in to eat their decaying fill
Promised cold ends in a warm paradise.

But the games are all rigged
And the house always wins,
The promise a mirage,
Successes the sins.

There are many roads and doors
To a hell with many levels
Another one bites the dust
As soon as the last red dust cloud settles
The wolves, they wear white wool
And the lambs howl like rebels
If we’re entertaining angels
Then aren’t we also entertaining devils?

There is more than one dead end coming
Red paint on cardboard says an end is nigh
With long dead language, the demons are summoned
With living words, the demon have learned to lie.

Abundant feasts have gone brown and spoiled
Laughter follows as the weakest fall
Nothing but fog for which men have toiled
Dancing in the streets from the latest thrall.

The party continues on
Until we wear through the soles
When laughs turn to screams
There’s no buying what we sold.

There are many roads and doors
To a hell with many levels
Another one bites the dust
As soon as the last red dust cloud settles
The wolves, they wear white wool
And the lambs howl like rebels
If we’re entertaining angels
Then aren’t we also entertaining devils?

From the view of the mad, the sane seem worse
Sanity’s heart is sanity’s curse
Hell’s unemployed, basking in the glow
There’s no telling how far man will go
To keep the wheels turning
And the candles burning
And the spirits yearning
For something already sacrificed
To the discerning gentleman
With scotch on ice
Who makes sure no one’s learning
What feeds the beast, what feeds a man

What need have we for devils
When we do so well ourselves?
Half the fun of wreaking havoc
Is knowing how many angels fell.

There are many roads and doors
To a hell with many levels
Another one bites the dust
As soon as the last red dust cloud settles
The wolves, they wear white wool
And the lambs howl like rebels
If we’re entertaining angels
Then aren’t we also entertaining devils?

 

Warning Signs

01 Friday May 2020

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Tags

apocalypse, end of the world, lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting

white rose and pink smoke

Photo by Flora Westbrook on Pexels.com

The coming mist glows yellow
With sulfur in its smell
A smoky sky, hanging low,
Carries dangerous stories to tell.

Red sky in the morning
Blood on the moon at night
An ill-swept wind blows in
With an eerie kind of light.

The world is lit with warning signs
The roads run dark and still
Cyan bruises on these lips of mine
Purple sage upon the hill.

Red eyes from the mourning
Blood on the sheets at night
A sickness marks our subtle sin
The beast will have its bite.

In all the colors of all the signs
We saw but haven’t seen
That we bring ourselves to an end of times
When all we can see is green.
When all we can need is green.

A person must be wicked
If a person’s to be heard
Were I a witch, with verdant skin,
Could the lesson be learned?

Red hives in the morning
Blood from the mouth at night
The edge of green is browning
And blackens into white.

Running

24 Friday Apr 2020

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting

woman wearing white dress walking on sand

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

After a bit of a dry spell, lyric-writing inspiration hit me hard, and I had to take advantage of the windfall while I had it, so there will be more in the coming weeks.

I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do with these things, but sometimes a feeling doesn’t want a whole novel to express it. I’d like to think that I’ll be able to DO something with them, but experience tells me that even if I do, that doesn’t make me heard.

RUNNING

Laying on the bed
Blood on the pillow
Drying brown
The porch swing creaks
In autumn wind
Where I’ve always belonged.

Always in a world of four walls
Head bruised by low ceilings getting lower
Told the walls were safe and I was just too tall
Locks for my own good, no use for a door.

I never try to get away
Torture to move
To breathe
I’ll take what you give
As the gift
That I have to receive.

But I’m running, running, running
Running, running, running
Left the keys in the car
The money in your pocket
You can’t tell me who you are
You can’t shut my mind and lock it
I’m running, running, running
Running, running, running
I don’t like to run, but I’ll run from you.

You asked for everything, every window open
You told me to stay, so I stayed
But even a spider reaches the end of her rope
And you know what a good spider does to a mate.

Been staying so long
I couldn’t see
Through your windows
That I could go
Where you weren’t
That I could just go…

You were a king
Of the smallest plot
But you’re not a king out there
Show your teeth
But I’ve got teeth of my own
If you don’t, why should I play fair?

There were a thousand forty-eight chances in my jar
And you just took the last one
I stood so still for so long
But the stone’s cracked and now I can run.

And I’m running, running, running
Running, running, running
Left the keys in the car
The money in your pocket
You can’t tell me who you are
You can’t shut my mind and lock it
I’m running, running, running
Running, running, running
I don’t like to run, but I’ll run from you.

 

Pretty

25 Saturday Jan 2020

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

horror, humor, lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting

black beetle in macro photography

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

I had a lot of fun writing this one, because it made me giggle and it doesn’t go the direction you think it will.

PRETTY

Do you think I’m pretty?
I don’t trust a mirror to tell me the truth
Do you think I’m pretty?
I don’t trust mirrors, but I’ll trust you.

My hair gleams so glossy
I scrubbed my skin till it shines
They’re both blacker than onyx
You’ll find no onyx stone finer than mine.

Do you think I’m pretty?
When I ask others, they all run
Do you think I’m pretty?
With the others gone, call me your only one.

I can smile for days
You’ll never find sharper teeth whiter than mine
I smile at you from ear to ear
To the back of my head, to the back of my spine.

Do you think I’m pretty?
My heart rests on your reply
Do you think I’m pretty?
If you don’t love me, someone will have to die.

Maybe me… Maybe you…

Have you ever seen a body like this?
Where others are lines, I’m all curves
Segmented, hard, and perfectly formed
Open your mouth and I’ll open mine. Dinner is served.

Do you think I’m pretty?
I cannot control the hand I’m dealt
Do you think I’m pretty?
My heart breaks the same as everyone else.

Do you think I’m pretty? (4x, deeper and growlier each time)

Storm the Castle

09 Monday Dec 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

dragon, fantasy, feminism, lyrics, not a poet, poem, princess, queen, songwriting

low angle photograph of concrete tower

Photo by Selim Çetin on Pexels.com

I’m not sure where this comes from except a series of images in my head, perhaps inspired by the heavy hand with cinematic pop I’ve been consuming lately. It’s forceful and lots of melodramatic, but that’s how I like it.

STORM THE CASTLE

Barren land from cliff to shore
Smoke and stone, chained dragon fire
You think you’re a king
You deserve so much more
But you’re wearing the crown of a thief and a liar.

You call me princess, but man, I’m a queen
You call me child but I am a warrior of the wild
You think you’re the king
And though my crown remains unseen
I am your end, destruction reviled.

The armies stand, but not for you
The earth, it turns and will turn without you
Your people call for a different name
How long did you think they’d endure you?

Doors won’t keep me out
Raise your sword
I’ll charge the gate
I give my word.

I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle.

Where once was green, you turn to gray
Not even wolves still roam our woods
Your eyes are green, what once were gray
Your daughters weep, wraiths in black hoods.

You call them trophies, you touch them gold
Cold metal under gold hands, no warmth in your skin
You call us playthings, silk skirts to be sold
You lock your walls against me, but I’m coming in.

Empires rise, empires fall
You have gained and lost it all
You’ve done as any tyrant does
You beg to me to be deposed.

Open the door, false king, false friend
Let coins pour into the streets like grain
All false kings come to ignoble ends
I’m shaking off the dust, shaking off the chains.

You call me a woman
Better were I a man
You call me a girl
But I am the dragon.

I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle
I’ll storm the castle.

The Long Walk

23 Saturday Nov 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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lyrics, not a poet, poem, songwriting, tired

black and white gray grey smooth

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

It’s been a hot minute since I wrote a song, but now I have three. They usually happen in clusters like this. I’m overworded from NaNoWriMo, so I’m not sure how much anything works, and mood-wise I’m a wreck, but I’ll take what I can get right now.

Another in my personal ‘paralysis’ subgenre, aka ‘poor you, please get over yourself,’ but it’s bound to happen now and then.

THE LONG WALK

When I was young, I was ready to fight
But now I lie down with fire dying inside
Watching everyone else taking sides
And still wishing that I could fight
I’m tired
I thought I’d have so much more I could do
But now it takes everything just to get through
I’m tired.

Not a day goes by
That I don’t think of dropping everything
And walking away
I don’t even know where I’d be walking to
Just away.
Away.

And I’d see all the things I don’t see on my screen
And I’d talk to the people who say what they mean
Or maybe I wouldn’t talk at all, to anyone or anything.
I’d just go till the rubber wore off my shoes
Until the world grew much bigger than squares of bad news
Until the road cut out at the end of the views.
I’d go until my soles were bloody and red
Until all of the madness flew out of my head
Deep down I know it would end when I’m dead.
But at least I’d know it was real.
Because if I have to be tired,
Do I have to be too tired to feel?

The course of my life, it moves chair to chair
And the truth of it is that I end up nowhere
Back where I start, ambition fades in midair
As I move back the goal posts as far as I dare
I’m tired
Once I dreamed much farther than this
And those dreams couldn’t fit on an end-of-life list
I’m tired.

Not a day goes by
That I don’t think of dropping everything
And walking away
I don’t even know where I’d be walking to
Just away.
Away.

Leaving isn’t the answer, but I don’t know how long I can stay
At night I’m too tired from the fires of the day
But I can’t go to sleep, knowing that it all starts again
And that I’ll never be what I thought I’d be then
Because we’ll never be what we couldn’t have been
So should I just throw it all away anyway?

I’d see all the things I don’t see on my screen
And I’d talk to the people who say what they mean
Or maybe I wouldn’t talk at all, to anyone or anything.
I’d just go till the rubber wore off my shoes
Until the world grew much bigger than squares of bad news
Until the road cut out at the end of the views.
I’d go until my soles were bloody and red
Until all of the madness flew out of my head
Deep down I know it would end when I’m dead.
But at least I’d know it was real.
Because if I have to be tired,
Do I have to be too tired to feel?

What Are You Wearing to the End of the World?

06 Friday Sep 2019

Posted by amandamblake in Music, Poetry

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Tags

apocalypse, armageddon, end of the world, lyrics, not a poet, poem, social commentary, social justice, songwriting

blue and yellow flame painting

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

If I keep going like this, I could have a whole album of apocalypse songs.

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING TO THE END OF THE WORLD?

Everything falling to pieces around you
The core of the apple has gone to the worms
The surface is cracked but the planet still turns
The Earth will do just fine without us.

But what will we decimate into our chaos?
How else to sully our decadent names?
Arsenic apple pie and murdering games
In prosperity and in plastic we trust.

Chorus:
On this day of our Lord, I ask only one thing
The chains are all rattling, the pendulum swings
The roses are dying and thorns are unfurled
What are you wearing to the end of the world?

Leather and lace go with shame and disgrace
The meteor falls in red fire silk
Volcanoes are flowing with honey and milk
But the milk is laced with sweet poison

Stilettos in pockets and the heels of our shoes
Pistols spin in pistoning security machines
Bad boys go worse and the good girls go mean
Here’s the handbasket to hearse into hell in.

Chorus:
On this day of our Lord, I ask only one thing
The chains are all rattling and the pendulum swings
The roses are dying and thorns are unfurled
What are you wearing to the end of the world?

They’re serving a feast speared with silver-lined spoons
The glazes look fine but taste of ash and of dust
The golden-gild cages are tarnished in rust
But we cannot break open any of our locks.

Dressed to the nines and down to the wire
The fur is all fake, blood-mined diamonds and stones
We’re dancing on shoes worn down to the bone
The servants keep turning back all of the clocks.

Bridge:
The masque of the red death holds sway over all
When the apocalypse hits, we head for the mall
The Beast has a number and our number’s come up
There are debts to be paid. On your knees, ante up
Hell is just empty and the devils all here
Amputated hands steer a carnival wheel.
We know what we’ve done, no more acts of contrition.
Lay back in the earth and think on your sin.

Chorus:
On this day of our Lord, I ask only one thing
The chains are all rattling and the pendulum swings
The roses are dying and thorns are unfurled
What are you wearing to the end of the world?

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