Ingredients Offline

Ingredients to nesha_lilbit: Why are you saying you are from Austin Texas?

Ingredients: Rhapsody

It can make the village rock, hear the words of steel.
Woven, which all interlock, a chorus to conceal.
It can make the village roll, hear my whispered word.
A missive's furtive soul for you, which is then interred.

Each note beckons callused fingers,
beats we reckon, shake foundation,
notes hang tidy, as refrains linger.
All relayed by incantation.

Euphoric states gently procreate,
within the halls that we delay.
As tempo softens, they desecrate,
the bedrock which we all portray.

Flushed notes squeal celestially, resonating on your breath.
Compiled sounds, portioned nouns, bestowing their caress.

You can sense the silence nears,
It's aching left within your breast.
Fervor drives your mind to fear,
reserved, you wait, as they arrest.

Crescendo comes at breakneck pace.
Ride the rapids through the mist,
avow the truth we can't debase,
With rhapsody, we subsist.

It can make the village feel, the voice they should all know.
The tenor cannot be concealed, watch it overflow.
The final movement materializes, with anticipation and respect.
As percussion conceptualizes, the modulations intersect.

Ingredients: She Asked Me if I Loved Her.

Allow me to enumerate, subjugate and demonstrate.
To those parts of you which hold doubt.
But first, I must abdicate, on how your words agitate,
all the parts of me which act out.

You talk about eternity, the ageless infinity
But your precocity holds you like a vice in its grip.
You hold its hair back, like girls in sorority.
Desperate to keep it making the slightest of slips.

Don't ask for reason, is there ever any worth hearing?
I can tell you "you're beautiful, with a personality to boot."
But does that really make my words any more endearing?
For me, that is something that your self must refute.

If you had telepathy your thoughts would be a mess.
Sorting out the messages, from thoughts I can't suppress.
Enabling my addiction to your body and your soul.
You would watch my mind, as infatuation takes control.

Faith I have in abundance, in people not in gods.
Charon can take all his coins, and I will take those odds.
I approach with uncertainty. and offer it candidly.
My love is yours to take, don't take it offhandedly.

Ingredients: Captain Sin

“Hello, and welcome to the show.
My name is Captain Sin.”
As Dancers tumble to and fro,
protected by thick skin.

“Release the snare!”, the Captain yells,
gripping a chair, metal strikes bells,
The audience roars with anticipation.
And the tigers temper, is just causation.

But Captain Sin is never through.
Lacking neither whip or mood.
He swings his crop and hits it true,
confidence is what he exudes.
The tiger rears to claw his face,
But Captain Sin just seems displaced,
too quick to see or venerate,
a cause for cheers to celebrate.

Another crack across the skin,
the beast now seems subdued.
Another smack across it's chin,
the monster takes review.

The cage is closed to mournful eyes.
For those who thought of Sin's demise.
And Captain Sin, takes a final bow.
He removes his hat, to cloak his brow.
Sin shades the line of red they missed.
As music plays, the show persists.

Obskura: Inga Famnit.

Ingredients to Obskura: I am sooooooo booooreeeddd, come talk to me.