One of the only pop musicians who wrote decent lyrics

No, but he was influence by Tom Lehrer who was a decent lyricist.

ne t'inquiète donc pas, fiston

Kek

Silhouettes and shadows
watch the revolution
No more free steps to heaven
It's no game

I am bored from the event
I really don't understand the situation
And it's no game

Documentaries on refugees
Couples 'gainst the target
You throw a rock against the road
And it breaks into pieces
Draw the blinds on yesterday,
and it's all so much scarier
Put a bullet in my brain,
and it makes all the papers

So where's the moral
when people have their fingers broken
To be insulted by these fascists
it's so degrading
And it's no game

Shut up!

And so the story goes they wore the clothes
They said the things to make it seem improbable
Whale of a lie like they hope it was

And the good men tomorrow had their feet in the wallow
And their heads of brawn were nicer shorn
And how they bought their positions with saccharin and trust
And the world was asleep to our latent fuss
Sighings swirl through the streets like the crust of the sun, the Bewlay Brothers

In our wings that bark
Flashing teeth of brass
Standing tall in the dark
Oh, and we were gone
Hanging out with your dwarf men
We were so turned on
By your lack of conclusions

I was stone and he was wax so he could scream and still relax
Unbelievable
And we frightened the small children away
And our talk was old and dust would flow
Through our veins and though it was midnight back at the kitchen door
Like the grim face on the cathedral floor
The solid book we wrote cannot be found today
And it was stalking time for the moon boys, the Bewlay Brothers

With our backs on the arch
And if the Devil may be here
But he can't sing about that
Oh, and we were gone
Real cool traders
We were so turned on
You thought we were fakers

And now the dress is hung, the ticket pawned
The factor max that proved the fact is melted down
Woven on the edging of my pillow
And my brother lays upon the rocks
He could be dead, he could be not, he could be you
He's chameleon, comedian, Corinthian and caricature
Shooting up pie in the sky
Bewlay brothers
In the feeble, in the bad
Bewlay brothers

In the blessed and cold
In the crutch-hungry dark
Was where we flayed our mark
Oh, and we were gone
Kings of Oblivion
We were so turned on
In the night walk pavilion

Lay me place and bake me pie I'm starving for me gravy
Leave my shoes, and door unlocked I might just slip away

Just for the day, ay
Please come away, ay
Just for the day, ay
Please come away, ay
Please come away, ay
Just for the day, ay
Please come away, ay
Please come away, ay
Please come away, ay
Please come away, ay
Away
Away

Let my inspiration flow in token rhyme, suggesting rhythm, that will not forsake me, till my tale is told and done

I've always liked the lyrics to The Man Who Sold the World. Once you add the original arrangement for it, it becomes Lovecraftian.

The Dead have some good lyrics but Terrapin Station is a hokey, insipid fable

Fucking Kek

Dylan sometimes:

You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun
Crying like a fire in the sun
Look out the saints are comin' through
And it's all over now, baby blue

The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense
Take what you have gathered from coincidence
The empty-handed painter from your streets
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets
This sky, too, is folding under you
And it's all over now, baby blue

All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home
All your reindeer armies, are all going home
The lover who just walked out your door
Has taken all his blankets from the floor
The carpet, too, is moving under you
And it's all over now, baby blue

Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you
The vagabond who's rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore
Strike another match, go start anew
And it's all over now, baby blue

This, Bowie is the great sum of his mediocre parts. He once even said God's cruellest gift is only giving you a little bit of talent

ahem

True with many aspects of Bowie, but his songwriting in itself was superb.

Brel = Ferré > Gainsbourg >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> De André >>>>>>>> anybody else >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> damned anglos (lyrics wise)

If songwriting means making the words fit nicely with the music then yes, but he's no Dylan or Cohen

Songwriting is more than lyric writing. Songwriting is creating the vocal melodies and the musical structure of songs.

...

Do you like Huey Lewis and the News? I think their undisputed masterpiece is "Hip to be Square", a song so catchy, most people probably don't listen to the lyrics. But they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself.

Ferré>Gainsbourg>Brel

Bowie's overrated shit.
No that's musical composition, faggot. If OP meant something more than lyrics he wouldn't have just said lyrics.

Why do you call people faggots for no reason

newfaggot

I feel the need to pause and comment here. OP please rethink your life if you think Bowie's lyrics are worth a second thought. Also his songwriting was shit too his only good albums came via Brian Eno

jamais pu blairer ferré. J'ai oublié Lanzmann/Dutronc cela dit, juste devant brassens

>*Blocks your path*

Goddammit, it's impossible to judge this on solely poetic metrics without the music surfacing.

Why do we seek meaning in entertainment?

Who?

Morrissey. Lrn2 reverse image search

I love Bowie to pieces, but no. He did create great art; magic, even, but his lyrics were not it.

youtube.com/watch?v=w_UHZ_62GCI

youtube.com/watch?v=KaOC9danxNo&t=51s

>not knowing the most important part of lyric is structure

I get legitimately annoyed when people say Bob Dylan wrote good LYRICS. I'm being pedantic here, but the motherfucker was a collagist, not a songwriter. In this sense, his greatest lyrics are on Nashville Skyline.

"Oh me, oh my, love that country pie" > "Muh visions of Johanna"

*teleports behind you*

I like Robert Pollard from GBV