By registering with us, you'll be able to discuss, share and private message with other members of our community.

  1. Welcome to the 12ozProphet Forum...
    You are currently logged out and viewing our forum as a guest which only allows limited access to our discussions, photos and other forum features. If you are a 12ozProphet Member please login to get the full experience.

    If you are not a 12ozProphet Member, please take a moment to register to gain full access to our website and all of its features. As a 12ozProphet Member you will be able to post comments, start discussions, communicate privately with other members and access members-only content. Registration is fast, simple and free, so join today and be a part of the largest and longest running Graffiti, Art, Style & Culture forum online.

    Please note, if you are a 12ozProphet Member and are locked out of your account, you can recover your account using the 'lost password' link in the login form. If you no longer have access to the email you registered with, please email us at [email protected] and we'll help you recover your account. Welcome to the 12ozProphet Forum (and don't forget to follow @12ozprophet in Instagram)!

the song of silas mcgee.

Discussion in 'Channel Zero' started by im not witty, May 10, 2002.

  1. im not witty

    im not witty Guest

    Not a time of dragons, nor enchanted fruit,
    no flying cars and hover boots, no shootouts around high noon, no battles fought, and no maidens swoon,

    Fear nor dear reader, for trouble does abound, it lies hidden in the lack of sound, a town struck quiet is where we lay our scene, of a crusty old hobo name of Silas McGee,
    And those whom he would bring off their knees,
    who bow to
    The secret man with muted face
    who’s laid waste to what was once a place of sound and taste
    sits stone still, mouth like a hyphen,
    a smile-virgin with all the power, (or so it seems to those who had traded in the chance to speak and dream )

    Our protagonist arrived one day, in a boxcar he had tucked away to seek the adventure found only in the act of seeking, and here he found
    The secret man had long since crushed
    the will of the townspeople dust And vague memories of what things once had been
    but no one thought to challenge things, they of course, knew not to bring,
    more trouble, better just to live life subtle, we’ve lost our voices and who knows what’s next they thought silently,

    “We quite prefer this lifestyle, no screeching cars nor screaming child
    who really needs to sing and talk, we could always write messages in chalk, careful though, don’t scratch the board, else suffer a fine or a day in court,
    where punishment would certainly outweigh, the quite bearable pain of a day
    without jokes and bangs, and ringing bells, or the ocean’s echo inside of conch shells who lay neglected in infinite armies across the shore,
    who ache to be heard again, like
    The people whose ears and mouths had slowly closed, clogged with regulations and things
    Silas never bothered to mind at all, “I’m just passin through is all, and it seems to me you folks could use a little life back in your life,
    their eyes begged Silas not to speak again, a hand over each ear for fear, of charges of aiding and abetting him,

    he who dared to let such blasphemy escape so freely from his mouth, “who’s got yall fellers all clamed up, I'm just off the train from Lexington Kentuck, and I aint heard a bird chirp,
    or even a burp out of a soul trapped in this place since I got here.”

    They pointed him towards the foreboding castle in which the secret man made things happen, and went about the business of downcast eyes,
    So Silas set out to walking, to ask this man why he’d stopped the talking and barred all the rest of sounds Silas held so dear,
    Without fear he strode up to great iron doors which opened without a peep, and darkness sweet beckoned him to step on up,
    Inside he wandered to a grand room, where this man would be, so he assumed.

    And there he sat quiet on a throne,
    the self appointed judge of noise who sat with the poise and rigid posture a person might come to fear if word got around,

    But this man was as dead as dirt, for many a year judging by the style of his shirt (cause no one ever wears them kind anymore)
    He hadn’t been alive for at least a decade but the people had followed the rules anyway, cause that’s the way it’d always been done,

    Silas leaned out the great window and gave a hoarse shout, that trampled and avalanched ALL throughout, the town covered in silence like a dust or a fog,
    and now the streets are filled with the song of Silas McGee,
    with the song of Silas McGee,

    with guitars strumming, voices in melody and the rhythm of drumming, they sing “you can outlaw the rain,
    But the storm clouds are coming.”
  2. suburbian bum

    suburbian bum 12oz Loyalist

    Joined: Jan 30, 2001 Messages: 14,673 Likes Received: 3
    i think im add, but for some reason i cant focus and i really want to read this. Mayby ill come back when i have less energy