{"id":21,"date":"2015-11-10T13:00:02","date_gmt":"2015-11-10T13:00:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/avada.ampronk.nl\/?page_id=21"},"modified":"2023-07-09T14:21:59","modified_gmt":"2023-07-09T13:21:59","slug":"writing","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.matthieubrandt.com\/?page_id=21","title":{"rendered":"Writing"},"content":{"rendered":"

Matt is now writing lyrics for other composers, like Jay-P, Marko Karhu and Frits Verheij.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Jay-P’s album with Matt’s Lyrics can be heard here:
\nhttps:\/\/open.spotify.com\/album\/5SJLg1hBSUI71vnHpszBR8<\/span><\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

Marko Karhu’s new albums will be out early 2024.<\/p>\n

Click here for a pdf with lyrics Matt wrote between 2020 and 2023 for other artists:
\nNew Lyrics 2020-2023.<\/strong><\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

Matt’s writing doesn’t always fit the shape of a regular song with verse, chorus and bridge.
\nBelow is an example from the album ‘Days Of Wrath’.<\/p>\n

The Days Of Wrath Are Here<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Tonight
\nGreat clouds of gritty wind
\nBlister a decrepit cabin
\nAs the final act begins<\/p>\n

The moon is a cold chiseled dagger
\nSlaughterhouse red
\nRipping open the raw wound
\nOn the day of reckoning we all dread
\nGod’s stopped listening
\nTo the excuses he made<\/p>\n

The last night has fallen
\nLike the guillotine blade<\/p>\n

A rocking chair lays wounded
\non a ramshackle porch
\nsmoke pokes from a stovepipe chimney
\nAn occasional flare illuminantes the night
\nwhile inside
\nA shriveled old man sips his whiskey<\/p>\n

One good hit will put the Gods in place
\nAnd cure everything in a flash of glory
\nHis liquid courage lasts but a harlots wink
\nNo happy ending to this story<\/p>\n

While he dreamed in color
\nHe kept livin’ in black and white
\nMurdering time by the hour
\nEvery junction faced with wavering fright
\nWasted years yearning
\nFor some sign to appear<\/p>\n

There’s no such thing as spare time
\nThe days of wrath are here<\/p>\n

The salmon swim against the river current
\nAs the bears await their jumping high
\nFloating downstream with convenient repose
\nHe always wondered why<\/p>\n

Safe the sound of comfort
\nLaid to rest a trifle doubt
\nVictim of prejudice and forgone conclusions
\nAgony he could do without<\/p>\n

Ambition dissolved in mournfull selfpity
\nSuccomed to vertigo and fear
\nHe knows the light is dwindling
\nHe knows the days of wrath are here<\/p>\n

Why seperate the gold from solid rock
\nWhy thrust the sword to the bone
\nWhen the pain it brings about
\nis sharp enough
\nto draw blood from brittle stone<\/p>\n

Molehills turned mountains
\nand with the passage of time
\nPebbles pushed up
\nbecome boulders
\nThe Sisyphus fate we all endure
\nLike the air up high
\nDetermination becomes
\nThin and colder<\/p>\n

Somehow he forgot
\nWhen you get to the top
\nYou don’t stop
\nto look ’round
\nYou keep climbing<\/p>\n

Oh, there was a loved one, long ago
\nA brief foray of the sacred oath
\nAs they yelled and screamed
\nIt was clear to see
\nThe world had failed them both<\/p>\n

Mundane temptations bearing unwanted fruit
\nA child of tainted circumstances
\nShe grew up poisened by dad’s neglect
\nMother’s shame and mischances
\nShe doesn’t call or come around
\nLeads a languish life far far away
\nA hard luck story of quiet despair
\nSomewhere in small town USA<\/p>\n

Some must fall, so others can go on
\nLast rites now mumbled on his past
\nYou only live once,
\nis what they say
\nBut you die a thousand deaths<\/p>\n

He folds his hand in this game of chance
\nWhere it all went awry
\nremains unclear
\nWithered by weather
\nand widowed by desire<\/p>\n

He knows the days of wrath are here<\/p>\n<\/div>

<\/div><\/div><\/div>

\"Matts-Back\"<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>

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