Create Every Day!

Today’s Lyric Sheet Jan 7th 2025 “COLD”

January 8, 2025January 8, 2025Jody Smith

[intro]

[verse]

It’s hard on the skin, the one I’m living in. I can’t tell you how the story ends How I lose or how you win I only know how it all begins.

[verse]

The dawn keeps breaking The birds sing in the morning my reflection keeps faking The smile I keep dawning.

[pre chorus]

Once my pockets are empty There’s nothing left to take away All my friends just walk away. With hearts full of sympathy.

[chorus]

My eyes fill with tears so sour My back aches from the weight I carry Look at all these feelings I’m sharing Don’t let this be my final hour!

[bridge]

No fires to put out No anger to scream or shout. My energy just spins about. It’s too late to just find out.

[instrumental solo]

[chorus] My eyes fill with tears so sour My back aches from the weight I carry Look at all these feelings I’m sharing Don’t let this be my final hour!

[outro]

[end]

Necronomiconditioner

December 19, 2024December 19, 2024Fallon Ray

Want to protect the shine and smoothness of your horns for up to 48 hours? Switch to new Necronomiconditioner, from the untrusted brand Dying Proof that you’ve come to know and despise. Want to look like you’re 485 again? Of course, we all do. Try their entire line of bat & body horror and horncare products to keep yourself looking immortally young. You’ll look so good that humans will be begging you to possess them.

Enriched with beta keratinoids that’ll enhance and sustain the luster of your horns for millennia to come, Necronomiconditioner is the only horncare product you’ll need for the rest of eternity. With a “conditional” (nyuk nyuk) full deathtime guarantee – if, for any reason you don’t absolutely hate it, we’ll keep your money for free. Have your credit card ready and seance now. Operators are burning by.

Scene Detail

December 16, 2024December 16, 2024Fallon Ray

In the moment the thing so adeptly moved to intercept and, as closely as I know how to describe, “grab” me, time slowed to a near halt; like the moment your car’s wheels gently lift into the air as it starts to roll, side over side, into some final resting position that hopefully will either leave you instantly unalive, or with only a few scratches and bruises, barely hurt at all – but with any luck, nowhere in between. And in this ten-thousand-frames-per-second vantage, I was able to see in great detail, surprisingly enough with simultaneous shock and calmness, the image of such a small slice of the man? beast? something else? in such minutiae as to be as much intrigued and awe-inspired as I was horrified.

Issuing in a row along the entire length of the underside of its arm were dozens, perhaps hundreds of dark, thin but engorged fronds like the fringe on a stereotypical American Native’s hide jacket. But they were each more akin to wanton tendrils, ranging in length from two or three to perhaps five inches. And all of them curled and spiraled and licked and quavered like slowly writhing tendrils, every one seemingly with a will and hunger of its own.