Song parody of
A Ballad of Disproven Tales
by Billy Zach
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In an act of innocence he cuts him out his life
Some big idea of that big idea, a dream to leave behind Scribblings of false prophecies of long disproven tales Takes his guitar, takes his honesty and at dawn, a new day
In an act of naitivity he declares to struggle on
He scrawls down his poetry and at night drinks at Old John's
He opens up his heart and soul but no one understands
His father's Gibson trashed and sold, he is wading through quicksand
And when they met, he drunk, she dressed in black He hoped to steer, clear, no regrets
And call it thrilling, call it infectious he burns them up at both ends He fails to divide affections and he fails to make amends
Safe me darling, safe me, is all he has to say
And as he gulps another due tear, unknowingly stuck in foul play
And when he struggles he's close to quit
He stems the effort, convinced he does his bit
And in his failure and his guilt, he takes a train to bruges
He strays all day, boots capped in filth, numbs his sore feet with booze And what's the use of romanticism?, if it doesn't even feel right
Get some idea of that big idea and then he calls her late at night
And as she struggles, she's close to leave A selfish wager, art and grief
And as he scruffs through his belongings, throws out his warning bills with rage Hopes to perceive some silver lining, but all he finds a white blank page
How goddamn stupid, he cries out, to cut him out his life
And all my proclamations, they make no sound and no one's reading what I write
And though I try so hard to keep it up, I'm never satisfied
And though I stumble, I fall, I try to stop aware but occupied And it's a story of regret, a story told a thousand times
He's chasing dragons until the sun is set, new day, a dawn, a light
In an act of innocence he cuts him out his life
Some big idea of that big idea, a dream to leave behind Scribblings of false prophecies of long disproven tales Takes his guitar, takes his honesty and at dawn, a new day
In an act of naitivity he declares to struggle on
He scrawls down his poetry and at night drinks at Old John's
He opens up his heart and soul but no one understands
His father's Gibson trashed and sold, he is wading through quicksand
And when they met, he drunk, she dressed in black He hoped to steer, clear, no regrets
And call it thrilling, call it infectious he burns them up at both ends He fails to divide affections and he fails to make amends
Safe me darling, safe me, is all he has to say
And as he gulps another due tear, unknowingly stuck in foul play
And when he struggles he's close to quit
He stems the effort, convinced he does his bit
And in his failure and his guilt, he takes a train to bruges
He strays all day, boots capped in filth, numbs his sore feet with booze And what's the use of romanticism?, if it doesn't even feel right
Get some idea of that big idea and then he calls her late at night
And as she struggles, she's close to leave A selfish wager, art and grief
And as he scruffs through his belongings, throws out his warning bills with rage Hopes to perceive some silver lining, but all he finds a white blank page
How goddamn stupid, he cries out, to cut him out his life
And all my proclamations, they make no sound and no one's reading what I write
And though I try so hard to keep it up, I'm never satisfied
And though I stumble, I fall, I try to stop aware but occupied And it's a story of regret, a story told a thousand times
He's chasing dragons until the sun is set, new day, a dawn, a light
