Grenade (Bruno Mars Cover)

What's easy to come is too easy to go.
Inescapable truth that gives birth to my woe.
In hindsight, so clearly, I should have known this.
Your eyes were wide open the first time we kissed!

And you take and you take and you never did give.
I imagine you're heartless as long as you live.
And when you get back to the place that you're from,
Do tell Mr Satan that this round he won.

You said that you love me, but you are a liar.
If my body caught flames you'd throw gas on the fire!
And despite all of this, or perhaps it's because:
My darling I'm giving you all of my love.

And so it's for you, I would catch a grenade.
Throw both of my hands right on top of a blade.
I'd throw my own body in front of a train.
I'd endure all of  this, even much greater pain.

'Cause darling, for you, I would lay down and die.
I'd do this although you would bat not an eye.
For you, yes my darling, I'd catch a grenade.
And yes, even though, you would do not the same!

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Here's a poetry version of Grenade by Bruno Mars.  Anapestic tetrameter, for your tuesday enjoyment

For you, my babe, I'd catch grenade.
And take a bullet to my brain.
There's just one question cause me pain:
My darling, would you do the same?

I'd throw my hand atop a blade,
And thrust myself before a train.
For you, I would endure this pain.
My darling, would you do the same?

Oedipus Wrecks: No Woman, No Cry

No woman, no cry.  'Cause the birthless don't die.
And it's only those bound up by gravity sigh.
'Cause we'd rather go upward, yet pulling us down.
'Til we lose all the thirst for the sky and do drown.

But we don't really know it, we're stuck here below it.
Until came along a most bothersome poet.
Who danced cross the waters, and caused such a bother
With songs that do blaspheme the way of our fathers.

And poet, you're crazy!  And mad, you just may be!
I think what you lack is a beautiful lady!
Distract, from your heresy, rhythm, and rhyme.
Do partake in the flesh, don't you know it's divine?

'Cause it's oh so sensational, flesh gravitational, next
you'll be saying we should be relational sex.
When the labia wet, and the member erect
And what happens is next, how my Oedipus wrecks.
With the clock and the moth and the rust and accruing of debts.
And the wine and the dine and the time and the wicked don't rest.
It's the same for the blessed, and of this I confess:
Not sure which I AM, but for sure I am wrecked...

And befuddled, confused.  By myself, I'm abused.
Whenever by compass of dust I am moved.
It's been oh too long, though the bound dub it wrong.
Yet the poet counts out a most blasphemous song:

No woman, no cry.  'Cause the birthless don't die.
And it's only those bound up by gravity sigh.
Cause the king of the hill is the king of the dust
and the clock and the moth and the thieves and the rust.
And only defying the gravity wise
Yet often colliding between of your thighs.
The weight of this flesh causes Oedipus sigh.
'Cause the birthless don't die.  Hence no woman, no cry.

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I'm not sure if this one is understandable by anyone (including me) but it may get us all a little closer to understanding to review the first in what has become the Oedipus Wrecks series.  Challenged myself by writing in anapestic tetrameter, and pleased that the flow of it seemed to come out naturally and it was really really fun to do a reading of it.  I hope I didn't talk too fast, in my head the rhythm of this one is a pretty fast horse gallop, but still wanted to make the words intelligible.