Wine Woman Song

Timeless theatrical art-pop built on authentic kroncong-inspired interlocking cak and cuk rhythms, upright bass, pizzicato cello, grand piano, violin, flute, and compact drums, Elegant, intimate verses; tense six-bar pre-choruses; expansive theatrical rock-pop choruses, Keep the kroncong pulse audible throughout, Include one short instrumental bridge with the song’s only electric guitar: sparse volume swells, bent notes, harmonics, and controlled feedback, Remove it completely before the final chorus, Warm, organic, tightly performed, dramatic, eccentric, and under 4 minutes, Avoid Broadway pastiche, lounge exotica, arena rock, EDM, trap percussion, synth bass, choir, generated vocals, glossy modern pop, and excessive cinematic scoring theatrical storytelling, pitch-wavering, vibrato heavy, alto or mezzo soprano female rock vocalist, Like a deathbed confessional

V5.5

a man in coveralls is stripping lug nuts now in the spot by the picture window where once you bent the knee to a dazzling future with me, while I fondled an overseasoned meatball with my fork, yawned, and listed all the ways in which our coupling would never work. because I needed this hard grease monkey to strip me naked, to fuck me crazy, to wrench me free of all my doldrums and anxieties because I don’t need another gilded cage I need sweet, rusted release. but I said yes, to the dress, to a new pair of meddling parents, to the spotless house on the hill by the cliffs, to the ghoulish Sunday masses, because I don’t want a man to fix I like to break my things and glue them back together again with everything but the dick to honor my beloved Artemis. I’m working, I’m working your flesh down to the bone. I’m wearing, I’m wearing your spirit down to a groan. because I needed this worthless pool boy to rout my rooter to be my tutor in the ways of being a cliché bore because I don’t need more… of whatever this is I just need more. and more and more. I’m running out the clock in the forest, in my birthday suit, stuffing my mouth with grass and screaming to the moon. Selene, will you be my guiding light? when I return, soaked and tail tucked, to your portcullis, the skeletons out the closet dance now in the courtyard to Chappell Roan. I’m working, I’m working on my self. Hey, fancy another trip to my underworld? what you might call hell?

0/500