Express thyself! Say something loudly! Aaaaaaah! What's in that room, Sonny? - Nick Cave

O no don't go O no O slow down Joe!
The righteous path is straight as an arrow,
Take a walk and you'll find it's too narrow,
Too narrow for the likes of me.

Writing a good song is not mimicry, or replication, or pastiche, it is the opposite, it is an act of self-murder that destroys all one has strived to produce in the past. It is those dangerous, heart-stopping departures that catapult the artist beyond the limits of what he or she recognises as their known self. This is part of the authentic creative struggle that precedes the invention of a unique lyric of actual value; it is the breathless confrontation with one’s vulnerability, one’s perilousness, one’s smallness, pitted against a sense of sudden shocking discovery; it is the redemptive artistic act that stirs the heart of the listener, where the listener recognizes in the inner workings of the song their own blood, their own struggle, their own suffering.

The moon was turned toward me,
Like a platter made of gold,
My death, it almost bored me,
So often was it told.