[Small]

I mean for this to have a good deal more polish and inner workings when I'm finished, but for now, here's the first draft:

Worthwhile

Her voice wakens you from your distracted reverie,
She’s had enough of not having enough, it’s time for hard-edged inquiry,
Your don’t make much money; you and the house are both going to seed,
You’re a fat and lazy lay-about—just another mouth for her to feed,
And honestly a lover of such proportion isn’t hard to replace,
But it’s okay—you haven’t felt the same about her since she lost the pretty face

Entropy—we’re often not worth,
The space we consume on the good earth,
With no recourse, but to press on,
In the hope of nothing but approaching dawn,
When we'll be worth the trouble it would take to kill us

It’s a complicated way of saying she wants to stay,
These compromising scenes she captured on a grainy bedroom videotape,
You’d be gone if you had half a backbone, but instead your attention strayed,
Until her soprano voice panting his name left you feeling betrayed,
She says she’ll never go back, and is sorry for what she’s already done,
The agony is in not knowing if the baby behind her hastily half-tucked shirt is your son,

Entropy—we’re often not worth,
The space we consume on the good earth,
With no recourse, but to press on,
In the hope of nothing but approaching dawn,
When we'll be worth the trouble it would take to kill us

You’re going to hell, this living one is already your inheritance and portion,
You’re alone. She’s been dead inside, since her body performed its own abortion,
The inescapable necessity of life together is a living, demonic thing,
In the wasteland of mingled hate and love where you share a name but don’t wear rings,
In the bedroom her eyes and the ceiling leak in dreary communion,
That harmony of moisture and your broken hearts are the last trace of any union,

Entropy—we’re often not worth,
The space we consume on the good earth,
With no recourse, but to press on,
In the hope of nothing but approaching dawn,
When we'll be worth the trouble it would take to kill us

Wake up, the morning sunlight filters through the dirty glass and loses its cheer,
One hand stuffed in the bodice of an airbrushed goddess, the other clutching a beer,
She emerges from your once-shared bedroom, her cheeks bleached by tears,
You don’t notice in the misery that her eyes are sifting through the dirt,
To see what she saw in you, to see any reason not to desert,
Each ray is a glimmer of hope that you, even you, can make this work.

[Small]

*bump*

[Small]

I hate to keep bugging y'all about this one, but I would like a bit of feedback...

[+SEAL+]

Originally Posted by Small

Her voice wakens you from your distracted reverie,
She’s had enough of not having enough, it’s time for hard-edged inquiry,
Your don’t make much money; you and the house are both going to seed,
You’re a fat and lazy lay-about—just another mouth for her to feed,
And honestly a lover of such proportion isn’t hard to replace,
But it’s okay—you haven’t felt the same about her since she lost the pretty face

You're fitting a lot of words in there, but it can work. Straight and direct, and I guess it works. But some cool poetry would be nice here. Like...don't be so literal in parts.

Entropy—we’re often not worth,
The space we consume on the good earth,
With no recourse, but to press on,
In the hope of nothing but approaching dawn,
When we'll be worth the trouble it would take to kill us

Yes, I like it! Very excellent. And it captures the mood just right.

It’s a complicated way of saying she wants to stay,
These compromising scenes she captured on a grainy bedroom videotape,
You’d be gone if you had half a backbone, but instead your attention strayed,
Until her soprano voice panting his name left you feeling betrayed,
She says she’ll never go back, and is sorry for what she’s already done,
The agony is in not knowing if the baby behind her hastily half-tucked shirt is your son,

The last line is very long, and I'd shorten it. But not bad, it advances the story more. But again, very literal.

You’re going to hell, this living one is already your inheritance and portion,
You’re alone. She’s been dead inside, since her body performed its own abortion,
The inescapable necessity of life together is a living, demonic thing,
In the wasteland of mingled hate and love where you share a name but don’t wear rings,
In the bedroom her eyes and the ceiling leak in dreary communion,
That harmony of moisture and your broken hearts are the last trace of any union,

I love it, I love it! Exactly the kind of imagery I was looking for.

Wake up, the morning sunlight filters through the dirty glass and loses its cheer,
One hand stuffed in the bodice of an airbrushed goddess, the other clutching a beer,
She emerges from your once-shared bedroom, her cheeks bleached by tears,
You don’t notice in the misery that her eyes are sifting through the dirt,
To see what she saw in you, to see any reason not to desert,
Each ray is a glimmer of hope that you, even you, can make this work.

Very excellent ending, and I love the second line ("One hand stuffed...")

Overall, pretty good. It starts out kind of bland, but the end is good.

[Small]

Originally Posted by +SEAL+

You're fitting a lot of words in there, but it can work. Straight and direct, and I guess it works. But some cool poetry would be nice here. Like...don't be so literal in parts.

I regret the need to, but I often set out to write very articulate stories into my songs, and so the first verse especially is often entirely straightforward, like it is here.

Overall, pretty good. It starts out kind of bland, but the end is good.

I'm afraid all I'm up to doing is trying to make my imagery attractive; I really don't think it fits my style to be much more poetic in some sections, but thank you for the suggestion, I certainly can't say it's wrong.

I did shorten the final line in the second verse, by subtracting "Hastily"

So it's:
It’s a complicated way of saying she wants to stay,
These compromising scenes she captured on a grainy bedroom videotape,
You’d be gone if you had half a backbone, but instead your attention strayed,
Until her soprano voice panting his name left you feeling betrayed,
She says she’ll never go back, and is sorry for what she’s already done,
The agony is in not knowing if the baby behind her half-tucked shirt is your son,

[+SEAL+]

Yes, removing "hastily" did a lot. It's good.

[Naragrath]

Amazing.