[Verse 1] Parlando recitative I’m narratively needling the notion of genre Explaining Over anxious arpeggios How categories calcify and harden My monologue meanders Yet metrically marches in measured iambics As I pedantically preview each pending peculiar idiom in the garden [Chorus] Every style in the file Every label on the shelf Is a mirror Is a mask Is a map of myself From the learned to the lurid From the quaint to the new I’m a taxonomy of tunes And I’m singing it through [Verse 2] Neo-soul slow-jam I luxuriate in languid lexical velvet Caressing consonants I let the syllables simmer and sizzle My vowels drip like honey Yet my thesis is quietly clinical That sensual semantics can still carry strangely statistical drizzle [Verse 3] Progressive death metal I mutter about modal modulation Growling through guttural consonants Yet scanning in classical scansion Blast-beating barlines into fractal Fantastical sub-divisions While outlining With ominous accuracy Harmony’s fragile expansion [Verse 4] Chamber folk ballad I catalog concertinaed cultural corners Fingerpicked phrases fold softly around ethnomusicological musings I mumble of mandolins Dulcimers Zithers Bouzoukis and banjos Yet thread them through three-part theology on how storytelling is choosing [Chorus] [Verse 5] Afro-Cuban rumba I enumerate notational nuance in clave Syncopated syllables slither Insinuating subtle isochronisms I dance through demisemiquavers describing distributed polyrhythms Demonstrating By doing That definition’s best drawn in the prism [Verse 6] Sacred Renaissance motet I meticulously mention mensuration In imitative entries I intone about tenor and tactus in tandem My lines lattice gently Yet laced with liturgical linguistics Till counterpoint proves In practice How separate voices can fandom [Bridge] [half-spoken patter] “Observe how every idiom is partly epistemic Each accent acts as argument Each groove is academic A rhythm is a thesis A refrain’s a point of view And the bridge is where the logic has to leap Then land with you” [Verse 7] Bebop contrafact I cram chromatic chatter in chorus-length phrases Riffing on rapid-fire rhetoric Reharmonizing rhetoric’s reason My consonants scuttle in flurries of fourteenth-note figurations As I argue that freedom in phrasing is still a form of precision [Verse 8] Nashville tearjerker I deliberately downshift to gentle plain-speaking Yet tuck in trisyllabic turns Almost timidly Under the twang I tell a small story of losing a playlist A person A past And how every lost track leaves an oddly well-rhymed boomerang [Chorus] [Verse 9] Psychedelic drone raga I spiral through spirant alliteration Sustaining single syllables over endlessly evolving undertones I chant of shimmering overtones Sympathetic strings Circular breath How repetition reveals In relief What the listener already owns [Verse 10] Baroque da capo aria I architect arguments in ornate sequences Coloratura turning cartwheels around cadential contemplations I ornament “form is function” with fioriture of philosophy Then repeat from the top More embellished To enact my iterations [Coda] 8-bit chiptune finale I pixelate previously posh perorations Reducing rococo reflections to rigid right-angled waveforms Yet every compressed cadence Every square-wave summary states That in endlessly iterable languages Even limits can change their shapes [Chorus]
0/500