A Story of a Cloud Saxxy 2015 by Tipsy Duck Lyrics
[Father]
Hahaha. All right kid, it's bedtime. Tomorrow we'll play again.
[Son]
I don't want to go to bed, there are monsters under there.
[Father]
Ha! Monsters under your bed? But when you grow up, you'll see that there are monsters everywhere!
[Son]
What?
[Father]
All right you little rascal, one more story. Let's see. Ah! How about, “A Story of a Cloud”?
[Son]
A cloud?
[Father]
Yes. He has no super strength or redeemable features, he's like all of us, of sentient creatures. Days and nights the cloud would stand there waiting for him to align with the spinning world that was raining. As an overseer overseeing all, the cloud saw all, especially during rain. People running with their damp clothes and drippy runny noses, and water drops running on window panes. To himself he thought about those men under the weather, how poor they looked, how much they graved help. “It must be in my blood, to assist those who yelp!” So the cloud soared through the rain settling above as a motherly cloak, and to the cloud the man spoke. He stared into those eyes of a brother, he saw his endeavor, acknowledging his effort.
[Man]
Get out of here you fucking cloud!
[Father]
Cried the man. Cloud was feeling less than thrilled, you see. How could he ever help the yelpy? For when caught sight of the cloud, men cried with mighty voices, profanities out loud. This heartbreak breaks even that strongest of hearts, like losing your blood to the painfully parting parts. And that's when it occurred. The nightmare manifested. He wasn't the revered who was needed. He was the creator of the very thing they hated. Cloud. The harbinger of damp clothes and runny noses. From this hell he tried some alternative measures, but even this was deprived of pleasures. In the devastation, he remembered a quote. “I am become death,” said a man on a rather cloudy day. But unlike man, the cloud did not dare to live through this game. How would he correct his wrong? He pondered and wondered. “Aha!" A huff and a puff, rejoiced the cloud in his cubicle room, “Solved it I have, I did! Aced the test! The oven, my final rest.” A thought did pass his now boiling brain. What would he become in the next life? Would it be another life in vain? A life enveloped in shrouds? He even dreamed to becoming those ridiculing men ridiculing clouds. Before drifting to the obscure space of consciousness and not, after the passing regret of death, the cloud drifted and past, rocked to the void by blazing waves. Little did, however, the little cloud know, the cloud remains don’t settle to Earth, but swirl to the sky, and thus the cremated steamed whirled and whirled, across the trees and backgrounds of blue skies, up, up closer to the Sun. There in the midst of nothingness at all, where the air is as light as a feather, the atoms collided and in dances of seduction together. Like that, struggled into consciousness, sky mother's too, a cloud.
[Son]
A cloud?
[Father]
Yes. He has no super strength or redeemable features, he's like all of us, of sentient creatures. Days and nights the cloud would stand there waiting for him to align with the spinning world that was raining. As an overseer overseeing all.
[Unspoken]
Thoughts of thoughts
be a witness with disconnected eyes
All be, projected
upon them
Damn be, the wheel turning, backwards barking dog
For, is there anything worse
than thoughts of thoughts?
[Father]
He had hit the record unknowingly, and lost the recorder in the hands of another, lost the chance for rewinding and re-recording. Now he waits for the tape to run out again, to eternally return, and play again.
[Son]
I don't wanna
*Crackling fire*
Hahaha. All right kid, it's bedtime. Tomorrow we'll play again.
[Son]
I don't want to go to bed, there are monsters under there.
[Father]
Ha! Monsters under your bed? But when you grow up, you'll see that there are monsters everywhere!
[Son]
What?
[Father]
All right you little rascal, one more story. Let's see. Ah! How about, “A Story of a Cloud”?
[Son]
A cloud?
[Father]
Yes. He has no super strength or redeemable features, he's like all of us, of sentient creatures. Days and nights the cloud would stand there waiting for him to align with the spinning world that was raining. As an overseer overseeing all, the cloud saw all, especially during rain. People running with their damp clothes and drippy runny noses, and water drops running on window panes. To himself he thought about those men under the weather, how poor they looked, how much they graved help. “It must be in my blood, to assist those who yelp!” So the cloud soared through the rain settling above as a motherly cloak, and to the cloud the man spoke. He stared into those eyes of a brother, he saw his endeavor, acknowledging his effort.
[Man]
Get out of here you fucking cloud!
[Father]
Cried the man. Cloud was feeling less than thrilled, you see. How could he ever help the yelpy? For when caught sight of the cloud, men cried with mighty voices, profanities out loud. This heartbreak breaks even that strongest of hearts, like losing your blood to the painfully parting parts. And that's when it occurred. The nightmare manifested. He wasn't the revered who was needed. He was the creator of the very thing they hated. Cloud. The harbinger of damp clothes and runny noses. From this hell he tried some alternative measures, but even this was deprived of pleasures. In the devastation, he remembered a quote. “I am become death,” said a man on a rather cloudy day. But unlike man, the cloud did not dare to live through this game. How would he correct his wrong? He pondered and wondered. “Aha!" A huff and a puff, rejoiced the cloud in his cubicle room, “Solved it I have, I did! Aced the test! The oven, my final rest.” A thought did pass his now boiling brain. What would he become in the next life? Would it be another life in vain? A life enveloped in shrouds? He even dreamed to becoming those ridiculing men ridiculing clouds. Before drifting to the obscure space of consciousness and not, after the passing regret of death, the cloud drifted and past, rocked to the void by blazing waves. Little did, however, the little cloud know, the cloud remains don’t settle to Earth, but swirl to the sky, and thus the cremated steamed whirled and whirled, across the trees and backgrounds of blue skies, up, up closer to the Sun. There in the midst of nothingness at all, where the air is as light as a feather, the atoms collided and in dances of seduction together. Like that, struggled into consciousness, sky mother's too, a cloud.
[Son]
A cloud?
[Father]
Yes. He has no super strength or redeemable features, he's like all of us, of sentient creatures. Days and nights the cloud would stand there waiting for him to align with the spinning world that was raining. As an overseer overseeing all.
[Unspoken]
Thoughts of thoughts
be a witness with disconnected eyes
All be, projected
upon them
Damn be, the wheel turning, backwards barking dog
For, is there anything worse
than thoughts of thoughts?
[Father]
He had hit the record unknowingly, and lost the recorder in the hands of another, lost the chance for rewinding and re-recording. Now he waits for the tape to run out again, to eternally return, and play again.
[Son]
I don't wanna
*Crackling fire*