Kill Your Darlings

tribal fusion, country rock, electronic rock

[Verse]
I grin above the parchment sky,
With ink-stained hands and a liar’s eye.
I bait the scene, then twist the thread,
I bless a line, then strike it dead.

I built a prince with perfect hair,
A silver tongue, a practiced stare.
But pretty things can choke the plot,
So in the bin, he gets forgot.

[Pre-Chorus]
Every page must earn its breath,
I deal in edits, cuts, and death.
You want a tale that bites and sings,
Then lose your soft, ornamental things.

[Chorus]
Kill your darlings, one by one,
Trim the moon and keep the sun.
If it weakens what you’re carving,
Cut it loose, kill your darlings.
Bleed the lines till truth comes through,
Leave behind what will not do.
Love won’t save a scene from starving,
Cut it loose, kill your darlings.

[Verse]
I tempt young scribes with gilded prose,
With velvet lines and swollen shows.
A clever quip, a grand disguise,
Then watch them fail to realize

A tale is not a hoarder’s den,
It lives by nerve, not maybe-when.
No pretty paragraph is king
If it does not serve the living thing.

[Pre-Chorus]
So slit the joke that stalls the pace,
And tear the mask from borrowed lace.
The truth is lean, the truth is hard,
A masterpiece is brutal art.

[Bridge]
That side plot begged you not to go,
That favorite line still stole the show.
That shining rogue, that tender speech,
Could not give the tale its reach.

So take the blade with steady wrist,
Let purpose be the thing you pick.
A god like me knows what is true,
The tale comes first, not what pleased you.

[Breakdown]
Cut the clutter, gut the glaze,
Strip the fog from all the praise.
What survives the ruthless pen
Will rise and breathe and strike again.

[Chorus]
Kill your darlings, one by one,
Burn the false and shape the sum.
If it breaks the spell you’re carving,
Cut it loose, kill your darlings.
Make it sharper, make it new,
Let the beating heart come through.
There is no mercy in this carving,
Write it true, kill your darlings.

[Outro]
I am the hand behind the pen,
I break it down, rebuild again.
And every writer learns this calling:
Serve the tale by killing darlings.

2376/7500

[Verse] I grin above the parchment sky, With ink-stained hands and a liar’s eye. I bait the scene, then twist the thread, I bless a line, then strike it dead. I built a prince with perfect hair, A silver tongue, a practiced stare. But pretty things can choke the plot, So in the bin, he gets forgot. [Pre-Chorus] Every page must earn its breath, I deal in edits, cuts, and death. You want a tale that bites and sings, Then lose your soft, ornamental things. [Chorus] Kill your darlings, one by one, Trim the moon and keep the sun. If it weakens what you’re carving, Cut it loose, kill your darlings. Bleed the lines till truth comes through, Leave behind what will not do. Love won’t save a scene from starving, Cut it loose, kill your darlings. [Verse] I tempt young scribes with gilded prose, With velvet lines and swollen shows. A clever quip, a grand disguise, Then watch them fail to realize A tale is not a hoarder’s den, It lives by nerve, not maybe-when. No pretty paragraph is king If it does not serve the living thing. [Pre-Chorus] So slit the joke that stalls the pace, And tear the mask from borrowed lace. The truth is lean, the truth is hard, A masterpiece is brutal art. [Chorus] Kill your darlings, one by one, Trim the moon and keep the sun. If it weakens what you’re carving, Cut it loose, kill your darlings. Bleed the lines till truth comes through, Leave behind what will not do. Love won’t save a scene from starving, Cut it loose, kill your darlings. [Bridge] That side plot begged you not to go, That favorite line still stole the show. That shining rogue, that tender speech, Could not give the tale its reach. So take the blade with steady wrist, Let purpose be the thing you pick. A god like me knows what is true, The tale comes first, not what pleased you. [Breakdown] Cut the clutter, gut the glaze, Strip the fog from all the praise. What survives the ruthless pen Will rise and breathe and strike again. [Chorus] Kill your darlings, one by one, Burn the false and shape the sum. If it breaks the spell you’re carving, Cut it loose, kill your darlings. Make it sharper, make it new, Let the beating heart come through. There is no mercy in this carving, Write it true, kill your darlings. [Outro] I am the hand behind the pen, I break it down, rebuild again. And every writer learns this calling: Serve the tale by killing darlings.

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