I'm still uploading, "only" having the raps left (at least that isn't marked as to be recorded, or in toki pona). I've found this one that basically sucks, titled "Rant", but the hook is kind of not that bad.
Why is it always my fault that I ain't alike?
Aren't we all unique, or that's just another lie?
There's another day to die, another way to lie,
Everyone is jokin', until the day you die.
Why is it always my fault that I ain't alike?
Aren't we all unique, or that's just another lie?
There's another day to die, another way to lie,
Everyone is jokin', until and after you die.
I haven't told that it isn't dark or sad, only that this isn't that bad.
3 minutes have passed, so I'll put it here. I know, it's in toki pona, but still some funny little lines. This lyrics though could be even published if I polished it a bit (and finished... it's unfinished).
mi tawa ma nasa, la mi ken lukin e jan ona.
lukin li pona. taso kute mi li pakala.
jan li toki nasa li lon len pi lili lili.
nimi pi jan musi lili li Lil' Lili
li lili lili.
Oh, and this btw is titled "jan Sotan lon ma Mewika".
Writing began at 08 nov 2021 and was put on hold for the better part of 2022 until publishing.
Throughout my years as a writer, I found myself unable to write on command. Every time I am faced with restrictions, deadlines or the possibility of working with unlike-minded individuals, whether it is a short story, a song or as simple as a letter, my mind seems to freeze and to actively deter inspiration, preventing ideas to form and prosper in what otherwise would be the perfect habitat for them...
tenpo li ante e jan e ma.
tenpo li awen e nasa e tan.
pona li sama pona lon ma ona,
la mi wile e ike li wile ala e pona.
I'm lost in the light
I'm lusting the void
People around me
Are nothing, but noise
I am surrounded
There's nowhere to go
The lack of the bright
Is where I feel home
Written at 17 August 2021
"No!" The angry student exclaimed, "I told you already! This is it! I refuse to change any of it!" He threw his papers in the air and stormed out of the lecture hall.
"What was that about?" asked the curious bystander, who helped Mark to pick up the angry student's essay.
"Just another art student refusing criticism," he said as he looked at his empty wrist, "do you know what time is it?"
"It's 11:05," she revealed with morbid casualty.
Written for 24 hour flash story writing competition, given theme was Ruthless Ambition.