so i recorded this song months ago, and am finally posting it now because
(1) i am currently hardcore procrastinating on my schoolwork, and
(2) today marks two months since i first started T, and when i was listening to this track again i realized just how much my voice…doesn’t sound like that anymore.
it was the first moment that really hit home just how much things are changing in my life right now. i’ve come so far, and i am so different from the person i was just two months ago – who will i be two months from now? how can i know, until i get there?
…so, existential crisis aside, enjoy! once again, shout out to @rabbittmouth, @dog-of-ulthar, and tom lehrer for inspiration. lyrics are below the cut!
( @axonsandsynapses mentioned that The Boxer was secretly a song about Clint Barton, so then of course I had to remake it to not-so-secretly be about Clint Barton.)
to the tune of Paul Simon’s The Boxer:
I am just a poor boy,
though my story’s seldom told.
I have squandered my resistance
for a pocket full of mumbles such are promises,
all lies and jest.
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
and disregards the rest.
When my father left us orphans
I was no more than a boy.
Left in the homes of strangers,
my brother and I fighting back
and running scared.
stumbling in the carnies’ quarters
where the lost and wandering go,
learning all the secrets only they would know.
With but my bow and wits about me,
I went looking for a job.
The work was dirty,
so much blood shed in the name of
power and greed.
Yet, as soon I’d see,
arrows shot for a man’s country
make the blood flow just as free.
Now the years are rolling by me,
Filled with anger, fear and glee.
I am less dead than I once was,
and more dead than I’ll be,
but that’s not unusual.
No it isn’t strange.
After changes upon changes
we are more or less the same.
After changes we are more or less the same.
Then I’m laying out my weapons
and wishing I was gone.
where the New York City battles
aren’t bleeding me,
leading me, going home.
In the clearing stands the archer
and a fighter by his trade.
And he carries the reminders
of every fight that laid him down,
or cut him till he cried out
in his anger and his shame,
“I am leaving, I am leaving!”
But the archer still remains.
for the gays are coming back!
to face their gay and undead wrath!
be prepared to face the monsters that you made
when you said our love would send us to our grave.
for every tragic story told
there’s a corpse
ready to come back for your soul.
you thought “oh what a plot twist!” when you killed her for the grief
of her girlfriend’s watching horror, or his husband’s disbelief…
now for each gay who had to die, it’s eye for eye,
so be prepared!
for the gays are gonna rise!
‘cause now they’re coming for your lives!
when we’re dead make sure to bury us real deep,
or we’ll come back up to catch you when you sleep!
you couldn’t bear
to keep the queers around,
but don’t bur-
-y what you can’t keep underground.
is it too much to ask for, for a story we survive?
is it too much to ask for, for the queer kid not to die?
“apparently” the undead hordes declare,
well, be prepared!
I apologize to @axonsandsynapses for doing their work absolutely nothing anywhere near justice, but this is my attempt at covering their brilliant adaptation of Sam Hall about everyone’s favourite ex-dead ex-Robin.
all sounds in this recording were made using a ukulele and/or my mouth, and all (highly amateur) sound editing was done using GarageBand. hope you enjoy!