By Ben |

The following lyrics were written to be background music (by imaginary band Mendelion Seeds) for my 1992 novella "First Person." They were meant to be a synthesis of "Your Wildest Dreams" by the Moody Blues, "Portrait of the Lady as a Young Artist" by Sea Train, and "Perfect Lover" by Kansas. I intentionally chose a very tricky rhyme scheme (ABCBDDDEBE) and rhythm (trochaic for the first four lines of each stanza alternating 8 and 6 feet, then anapestic quadrameter for the rest), and I found the structure helped. There is also a tune and chord progression, but they're not worth sharing.

The world was new to me again; everything had changed.
I don't know if I'm sure that she exists.
Could my new infatuation just be good imagination,
Or was I a random number on her list?
I can feel her beside me, I know that she's there,
But in place of her beauty I see empty air,
And I know that she's perfect, but I don't know where.
She's too real to be thought; she's too good to be true.
I want her to love; she needs me to assist,
And I'm tired of thinking of what I can't do.

There is something odd about her that can make the world whisper.
When she passes, pain and hate must step aside.
The castle in her mind holds the treasures that I quest for,
But its walls will let no person see inside.
From the window, she plays on the strings of her heart
The music that makes all my plans fall apart.
I don't know where to go, but I'm ready to start.
Though I can't see the window, I catch all the bones
That she throws me to keep me in rapture beside
The castle she sits in and stingily owns.

Though the castle is her prison, she can come and go at will;
When I look into her face I see the sky.
Though we run toward each other, still the distance stays the same.
I can see the clouds reflected in her eyes.
When I'm looking at her, yet when no one can see,
She can lift off the ground and can soar over me,
She could be everything that we both want to be.
Yet her wings have been clipped and her soul has been stripped.
Her mind can't accept what her heart can't deny.
She was walking on air when she heard, and she tripped.

Though remembering is torture, it's the only bliss she has,
So she takes me there to witness what she feels.
On the drawbridge I must leave her. I can sense the watchman's eyes.
Of the two, it is the princess who must kneel.
She's sure that it's right, but I think it's obscene,
And I wish I could think that it's still all a dream,
But my eyes can't forget what my mind has just seen.
She is beaten and broken 'till both of us fall.
She must walk like a cripple from scars that won't heal.
Her soul is protected behind castle walls.