Turns out I’m an award winning song writer ;-)

So I got this nice little surprise in the post today:

https://jbjfan2009.wordpress.com/2015/05/31/dreams-come-true/

Now I know it’s not a Grammy, but given my recent, on going writers block, and the utter dreck I’ve been putting to paper in the last few weeks, it’s a nice reminder that I can, and will again, write good stuff.
Perhaps it’s also a sign that, rather than writing lyric after lyric, and poem after poem, I should concentrate on the stuff I’ve already written.
Either way, whether I win a main prize and get put on iTunes or not, it’s a nice little morale boost 🙂

Dreams Come True

I saw photos from the weekend.

You were there.

Rosy red cheeks and that long blonde hair.

Dancing like you owned the bare dance floor.

Not a care in the world, or a single bad thought.

That saccharine smile, hiding all kinds of bad.

A infectious kind of innocence.

And a sorry kind of sad.

Because I know I won’t be there, to hold you no more.

And I know all I’ve got, are these lonely thoughts.

 

I close my eyes and imagine.

What my life could be.

A hero in a fairy tale.

With my princess next to me.

So if I think of it.

Just imagine that.

Dreams come true.

 

Duvet days on Sunday’s.

Hide all day under the sheets.

Always saying something, even when we didn’t speak.

But those days have vanished.

Like a disappearing act.

You told nothing but lies, and presented them as fact.

Now you’re screaming like a banshee.

And I’m howling like a wolf.

We’re distorted like Picasso, instead of perfect like Van Gogh.

Now I know that you won’t be there, when I get home from work.

So I shut out the world, and disappear into thought.

 

My heart it bleeds without you.

My head’s all black and blue.

Now that knight in shining armour is.

A bullied boy with a chipped tooth.

In the parking lot.

You imagine that.

Dreams come true.

 

Now I’m blinded by this rage.

Crashing like waves in the sea.

Spitting out your name, like every time you cussed at me.

And I lost you in a tangle.

In this opaque misery.

Hoping when I dream of you, that you still dream of me.

And I’ll imagine that dreams come true.

Because it’s nothing but a nightmare.

When you are not in it.

Just a dark and lonely tapestry, of the blackest pitch.

And the more I think of it.

Just imagine it might come true.

 

I tried calling you this morning.

To ask you out to lunch.

But the answer from you voice-mail, put me into a trance.

I know you’re out there somewhere.

Happy with someone else.

So I’ll keep my dreams with me, high up on the shelf.

 

You see I’ve still got those old photo’s.

From the first time that I knew.

I’ll have to spend my days, just dreaming of you.

And perhaps I might get lucky.

Perhaps I’ll strike some gold.

Perhaps when I stop dreaming.

I’ll find my dream’s come true.

 

© 2014 Nick Burgin

Mini Rant – The Sad State of Modern Music

So I’m listening to radio 1, the number one “popular” radio station in the UK, and it’s making me angry. If the songs aren’t sampling old songs from the 80’s or 90’s, they’re just plain and simply awful. Lyrically and musically. There’s no skill. No passion for their work. They’re just making “music” that they know will sell to the masses…aka, whatever makes them the most money.

I grew up listening to music in the late 90’s and early 00’s, which wasn’t great. We’d missed the likes of Gun n Roses, Nirvana, and Pearl Jam. And the likes of Oasis and Blur were beginning to fade. But it was ok, because a lot of the bad music we had knew it was bad, and didn’t take itself too seriously. “Musicians” now actually seem to believe in their own hype, created by the record companies who more than likely slip the odd cheque to radio stations and critics, which creates these god awful, egotistical assholes. See Kanye West and Robin Thicke for proof.

As a wannabe song writer myself, it’s quite painful to witness. I know I’m not a world class writer, but I’m pretty sure I’m a better writer than the aforementioned West and Thicke, among many others cuurantly polluting the airwaves.

It’s just depressing.