All the instrumentation is final. Still working on vocals, so I left them out of this iteration.
A dark haired
Man comes home
To see that
And his brother
To be found.
Then he found
Words on the
They read, "Meet
If you want
He goes and
A gruff voice says,
They blindfold his eyes and club him on the head.
He wakes up and they're still driving.
The night passes into oblivion. He wakes again
In a immense workroom alone with a note that says,
"Build us a flying machine
Win next month's race, and we won't kill your brother."
So he builds it well. Race day comes. His thug captors
Push him up to the starting line
He eyes the
It has an-
y chance of
That's when the
A great cloud of smoke and dust encompasses
Everything, but the crowd can hear movement
They hear machines advancing,
When suddenly two planes burst free!
The race was on! Our hero saw his rival
Pull ahead, and he couldn't catch up no matter
What he tried, but he kept trying
And then saw an opening.
Now they were neck and neck,
And the finish was just ahead, less than a hundred feet
To the check-
But as the
Who he was
He yelled out,
Eyes looked down
To see their
But now with
To save, they
I'm toying with the idea of releasing stream-only versions of new songs as they progress from conception to finished recordings, assigning a percentage of completeness to each iteration, roughly comprised of 40% writing, 30% instrumentation, 20% mixing, and 10% mastering, thus documenting the ascension of songs to higher and higher states of worthiness, soon to escape their mortal shells, finally attaining the elysian bliss of purchasability.