Free download
Rock/Industrial/techno 1 piece from Waco,TX
Uh... its just me -vocals, guitar, bass, and programming
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #245
Peak in subgenre #28
Author
Thomas Rust
Rights
Thomas Rust
Uploaded
November 03, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.0 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
THE TEACHER
Working in the desolate corner
My companion is a world unto herself
Grading hour after hour
Her children come and go playing in the corners
But still she stays when all others have gone away
I find myself pondering, wondering who she might be
A mother, a teacher, the silent grading companion of me
Somewhat like my own, my mother teaching in the hours alone
Often I wander, my thoughts travel to her
In her own imprisoned corner
Where a soul is but a murmer
My father as well, seperating the fact from the fables
teaching for years just to bring food to the table
Glancing over a partition, I see the papers bleed
red pen slays, she is oblivious to the screams
How often have I, myself been a victim
to the hateful red ink and tried to do it to them?
Tragically, Teachers look at you and laugh
when you go to them red pen in hand
Teachers wield ther power with their magic wand
like some kind of superhero-Errors be Gone!
I hear the rustle of paper
I look up and see that she's gone
after grading her victims my companion leaves me
writing a song that no one will see.
But perhaps it is not a song
after all i've been doing that for too long
no one enjoys the songs i sing anyway
writing of my hate, freedom for my soul to play
Is this some sort of poetical justice?
the thing i love doing, others hate this?
Self-Reflection consumes me when I write
these songs characterized by the departure of light
Now I wonder what has happened to me
writing of a woman in the corner as her pen bleeds
Surely it is a sign of idleness and being lazy
everyone already thinks that I'm crazy
Why do i write for hours at a time
pouring my soul into the stories of rhyme
I'm not different than anyone else
anyone can rhyme, its not a gift unto myself
However, I always tend to drift
winding, weaving these words with this impartial gift
Still I don't know why I do what I do
wasting my life with these lyrics I spew
I'm not after all, some sort of Dr. Suess
Stories being told, NO, they are my soul let loose
I have to get it out, lest my head explode
rhymes of depression or stories being told
Perhaps that is why, my eager reader
that I wrote a poem about my companion-
the silent, Grading teacher
