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Wreckage of Our Lives was written in Paris. I was wandering the streets, looking at the marvelous architecture, sculptures, and marble facades, and thinking about the permanent quality of the things we humans build, versus the temporary quality of humans themselves. All in all, Paris is a beautiful city. Paris doesn't want you to see what's behind her carved marble mask; thin streets with black gutters like trailing wisps of cigarette smoke. She has a cold, stone regard. The centuries passing her by have left their mark on her features. Paris looks upon your short span of time in this world and gives you only the gutters of her attention.

It's bound to make you lonely, wandering through the 'City of Lovers' by yourself. It's bound to make you consider your finite place in the universe, far more fleeting than stone. And it's also easy to imagine, faced with those empty marble eyes, that God, too, no longer sees our pain.

Thus, Wreckage was written.

Here is a rough of Wreckage of Our Lives, sung and played by yours truly.
 
  Wreckage of Our Lives

Thunder rumbles 'cross the moon
The storm will be upon us soon,
And in the dark, deserted streets
The rhythm of the rain is beat
On the belly of the night.

Chorus:
The storm has gathered on the horizon
The voice of God has fallen silent
With no one left to disagree
The Devil watches eagerly
O'er the lovers and the sinners
And the wreckage of our lives.

I hear the summons and I go
Toward the horns of Jericho
On streets as long as memory
Across the shattered masonry
Where angels fear to tread.

Chorus.

I count the number of my sins
A thousand kisses on your skin
I'll pay the body of my debts
With the sum of my regrets,
Until my soul is spent.

Chorus.

Smothering, we gasp for breath
And waste what little time is left
On meaningless apologies
As faith is driven to its knees
By lunatics and liars.




All words and music are copyright 2010, and are sole property of the artist.
Please do not reproduce in any fashion without written and explicit permission.