With a new manager we can go right to the top. So he believes, at least. Revelling in the success and fame of the burning limelight. Pulling a few strings, friends of friends, and the record companies will be there. The whole band can feel their nerves on fire and new material floods in inspiration, through dreams… dreams of blood.
Bless me father, your name I will remember.
…Who is the shadow who haunts my dreams, the figure lost in the darkness, calling out to me, who claims parentage?
New songs weave a tapestry through the depths of my dreams.
A rough version, the lyrics need some work, the melody finally solidified, a working title is needed; I call it “Red”.
Black night of the Hunter’s glory
The ethereal dancers tell the story
Of revenge upon a satin bed;
Innocent white is stained to red.
The dove is diseased, poor neck broken,
The coil’s severed, a nightmare’s token,
Under the cross of hypocrisies I scream
Awash in the blood of a nightly dream.
All dreams are plagued,
At night they play,
In red, always red.
A deadly vision,
Of my cerebral fission,
In red, always red.
Not bad, but it definitely needs working on; two more verses and perhaps a middle eight.
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan
