The Trinity

I managed to add just one line to one of those lyrics.

"You are the holy to my ghost: a sympathetic demon with fluorescent marker painted on your toes."

Maybe by the end of the year, I'll have a full set of lyrics. But it's kind of forming in my head, the theme of the song, the idea. I have the music for it, it's gonna be a short, surprisingly high-energy thing for me.
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LOTS O' LINKZ:

1: The singer/guitarist of Mimas, Snævar Albertsson, is coming out with an EP this April called the Digital Age. You can listen to a couple of songs off of it here: TO THE "DAD ROCKS!" FACEBOOK PAGE!

2: Someone I met over the Internet (through our shared liking of the band Mimas! what a coincidence.) is writing a story about zombies and love. You can read it here: TO THE "YOU'VE REALLY CHANGED - A ZOMBIE LOVE STORY FACEBOOK PAGE!

3: Gonjasufi. Just found out about him. I can't even describe him, everyone I've seen review his album can't describe it with just one word. It's hip-hop meets chill-out meets psychedelic meets middleeastern music meets a rastafarian. I plan on getting his album off iTunes, since it's 20 songs for $7.99. Here are a couple songs by him:

TO "ANCESTORS" BY GONJASUFI!

TO "SHEEP" BY GONJASUFI!
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SNAPSHOT:
Sports awards. The talking that's bursting out of the PA system at X decibels. Congratulations Erik... In one ear and out the other for just a few seconds. Girl I can't identify with too much blush and mascara on. Her phone's on the table. Talking to her friends. Nothing much to see there. Typical vapid phantom of a teenager. My eyes gaze to the school-to-career teacher. Interesting position, that is. Pretty essential, for all the kids without direction. She's our secondary guidance teacher. Very professional, formal, and reserved, and a lot of kids give her crap for it. I respect her. A lean, thin, aged face with mild, beady eyes. Hands across her lap, she stares infinitely into the direction at which the voice is coming from. Wearing some light green, almost glowing vest. And then to my plate. Cheese cubes, cut in halves and quarters and eighths. They won't be eaten. Lactose intolerant... or so you think. Scraps of noodle and meat that i don't want to scrounge up off my plate and struggle to get in my mouth. Don't want to look dumb in front of people, now do you? His mind wanders a little bit and then his gaze returns to the podium.

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