Half a Parody, Half a Parody, Half a Parody Onward!

How art thou fallen, O Lucifer, son of the morning! That, at any rate, is the gist of what's going through my head these days. The lyrical flow has been so meagre of late, that I'm reduced to posting half-songs and fragments. I suspect that my Muse is jealous; and Hell hath no fury, usw, usf.

But if one doesn't place these fragments on record when they come, one may never finish them. So, to the tune of Surrey With the Fringe on Top, with a tip o' the hat to my chum, the Coffee Lady, who put the idea into my head:

Bombed and blitzed and pissed and polluted:
That's a fact that can't be refuted,
When you take your drink undiluted
And you fail to stop.

When you're crocked, you write with a scribble;
When you're zonked, you speak with a dribble;
When you're fried, you cry, Ish kabibble!
If they call a cop.

Lyric © 2008 Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov

But what to do for the release or bridge or middle eight? One scratches one's head.

Meanwhile, my DAMP and I last night fixed on four more songs to record, and got some ideas on how to present them. So I've a wee bit of work cut out for me.