"Without The Music" song lyrics by John Kaniecki

It isn’t every day that I can announce that I just published a book that took over thirty years to write. But that’s what I’ve just done. “Without The Music” is the best of my song lyrics that I have written in my entire life. It includes my first attempt and the last one I wrote before I compiled the book.

What can I say about these five hundred or so lyrics? There is rock, country, gospel, pop, Christian, folk and even one rap song. I have poured my soul into this work. I have chronicled life events, friendships, broken hearts, and my twisted views of life into this collection of song lyrics.

This book is a living testimony, a proud statement of what I am. Whether you are a poetry fan or a musician/composer looking for some material to work with, this book is essential.

Song of My Heart

I’m searching for the right words to say

To make it all okay

Could you lend me your ear in the cool autumn breeze?

It would put my mind at ease

I can’t remember the words that I wrote

So take what you value and leave what you don’t

Let the music do its part

Then you’ll understand the song of my heart

Spent the night haunted by confused memories

Churned by a twisted history

Different players in an identical game 

But the song remains the same

I can’t remember the words that I wrote

So take what you value and leave what you don’t

Let the music do its part

Then you’ll understand the song of my heart

In a deep dark valley with a cool running stream

I see a princess in a dream

I’m feeling the rapture I’m sensing the bliss

I will be free with your passionate kiss

I can’t remember the words that I wrote

So take what you value and leave what you don’t

Let the music do its part

Then you’ll understand the song of my heart

My thoughts turn to the memories of the days that we spent

Living off of the love that we lent

If you take the love I give I’m sure you will see

The truth is you’re just like me (X3)

I can’t remember the words that I wrote

So take what you value and leave what you don’t

Let the music do its part

Then you’ll understand the song of my heart

You know you’re just like me

You’re just like me

Girl you’re just like me

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The Children of Never by Christian Warren Freed

The Children of Never

The War Priests of Andrak Saga Book 1

by Christian Warren Freed

Genre: Epic Fantasy

The war priests of Andrak have protected the world from the encroaching darkness for generations. Stewards of the Purifying Flame, the priests stand upon their castle walls each year for 100 days. Along with the best fighters, soldiers, and adventurers from across the lands, they repulse the Omegri invasions.

But their strength wanes and evil spreads.

Lizette awakens to a nightmare, for her daughter has been stolen during the night. When she goes to the Baron to petition aid, she learns that similar incidents are occurring across the duchy. Her daughter was just the beginning. Baron Einos of Fent is left with no choice but to summon the war priests.

Brother Quinlan is a haunted man. Last survivor of Castle Bendris, he now serves Andrak. Despite his flaws, the Lord General recognizes Quinlan as one of the best he has. Sending him to Fent is his best chance for finding the missing children and restoring order. Quinlan begins a quest that will tax his strength and threaten the foundations of his soul.

The Grey Wanderer stalks the lands, and where he goes, bad things follow. The dead rise and the Omegri launch a plan to stop time and overrun the world. The duchy of Fent is just the beginning.

Goodreads * Amazon

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40711218-the-children-of-never

https://www.amazon.com/Children-Never-Priests-Andrak-Saga-ebook/dp/B07DTLBH17

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About the Author

Christian W. Freed was born in Buffalo, N.Y. more years ago than he would like to remember. After spending more than 20 years in the active duty US Army he has turned his talents to writing. Since retiring, he has gone on to publish 17 military fantasy and science fiction novels, as well as his memoirs from his time in Iraq and Afghanistan. His first published book (Hammers in the Wind) has been the #1 free book on Kindle 4 times and he holds a fancy certificate from the L Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest.

Passionate about history, he combines his knowledge of the past with modern military tactics to create an engaging, quasi-realistic world for the readers. He graduated from Campbell University with a degree in history and is pursuing a Masters of Arts degree in Military History from Norwich University. He currently lives outside of Raleigh, N.C. and devotes his time to writing, his family, and their two Bernese Mountain Dogs. If you drive by you might just find him on the porch with a cigar in one hand and a pen in the other.

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads

Author Links

Website: http://christianfreed.wixsite.com/christianwarrenfreed
Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/ChristianFreed/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ChristianWFreed

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005HP3EOW

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8137590.Christian_Warren_Freed

Excerpt 1:

Dawn was breaking, the first thin tendrils of pale light stretched across the darkened skies. Roosters crowed. Farmers rose and readied for the long day. Had any been in the fields, they might have caught a glimpse of an old man, crooked and dressed in faded grey robes, stalking down the dirt road leading to the cemetery. He carried a small lantern that swung with every step. The Grey Wanderer some named him. Others simply chose a more apt name: The Soul Stealer.

Whistling as he went, the Grey Wanderer sniffed the air for the scent of those freshly dead. Some whispered he was once a king of men. Others suggested he had been a sorcerer of great power who’d made a deal with fell powers. Most didn’t care; they avoided all mention of him. Wherever the Grey Wanderer went, bad things followed.

He paused at the cemetery gates and raised his lantern high. A wash of light fell over the tombstones, showing him what he’d come to find. Fresh earth cast over the recently deceased. His smile was thin and insidious. The Grey Wanderer began to whistle. It was a ghastly sound, unfit for mortal ears. A cry to the ones in the deep beyond whose very existence threatened the sanity of the masses.

Once he finished his task, the Grey Wanderer lowered his lantern and continued walking. He avoided passing through the sleepy village, choosing instead to disappear back into the mists of time and space. His work here was finished.

The ground shook at his passing. Fresh dirt slipped from the top of the mound. The tombstone, carelessly erected, toppled and broke. Hands, withered and clawed, punched free from their eternal tomb. They reached and dug, frantic to free their body. Rock and dirt cascaded away from the naked body as the once dead man pulled his head and arms from the ground.

Shoulder length hair the color of midnight had fallen over his face. Bits of wood and dirt fell away from his flesh. The once dead man held up his hands and blinked the grime away from his eyes. His flesh was riddled with damage where the worms and underground rodents had already begun their feasts. Bone glinted from numerous places in the fading dark. He stared at what he had become and cast his head back, uttering a primal scream.

Frantic, the once dead man shoved armfuls of dirt away, desperate to be free of his prison. His chest was covered in hair matted to his flesh. A red and black snake dropped from beneath his armpit. The once dead man worked furiously before being rewarded. He crawled and climbed free and collapsed beside the pieces of his tombstone. Memory lost, the once dead man peered to make out the name engraved upon the stone. Brogon Lord.

He had once been a man named Brogon Lord. That name, and the life associated with it, no longer held meaning, for he had died. This mockery of reanimated flesh was a far cry from the warmth of life. The panic subsided, and the once dead man began to think. Images born of random thoughts filled his mind. He watched events play out, an entire age born and died in a heartbeat. The once dead man knew what must be done. Who he once was no longer mattered. He once again had purpose. 

Far off on the dying night, he heard whistling.

Excerpt 2:

Baron Einos awoke to unfamiliar sensations. Cold, almost unbearable, filled his bedchambers. Winter was a memory and spring well underway. This southern duchy was well south of the northern ice flows and far enough east of the Barbacus River to avoid the heavy winds. A thick blanket and small fire in the hearth were more than sufficient for keeping Einos warm throughout the shortening nights.

The Baron wiped the crud from the corners of his eyes, yawned, and sat up. His bearskin blanket fell away, exposing his naked chest. Young for one of the ruling class, Einos was broad across the shoulders and slabbed with muscle. His sand colored hair draped across his shoulders. Bright green eyes scanned the chamber.

His wife, still sleeping, shifted beside him and exhaled deeply. Einos resisted the urge to rouse her, at least until he was satisfied nothing was amiss. Not finding anything of concern in the immediate area, he slipped from the bed and donned a thick robe that fell to the floor. The fire had gone out, leaving the chamber in darkness. Frowning, Einos reached for the short sword he kept beside the bed. Fent was a relatively peaceful duchy, but one does not rise to power without creating enemies capable of extreme violence.

He took a step, then a strange noise froze him in midstride. Einos gripped his sword tighter. “Who goes?”

The sound of sobbing returned. Einos frowned, certain he’d heard a child. There were numerous children in the keep, though none his own. Aneth, his wife of nearly a decade, was heavy with child and due by the end of spring. He suspected the draft coming through the cracks in the walls provided the strange sounds, but one could never be too cautious.

Einos fumbled for a match and lit the candle nearest his bed. Soft light turned his bedchamber into a shadowed realm. Einos remained still, listening against the dark. His efforts were rewarded by uncontrollable sobbing coming from the far corner. Sword in one hand, candle the other, the Baron of Fent took a step closer to the sound.

His exposed toes kicked the chamber pot, spilling old piss over his foot. Einos snarled a curse and kept going as the sobbing intensified. A wall of light crept across the stone floor until it reached the huddled figure of a young child. Einos cocked his head as he tried to get a clear view of the face. Knees drawn with arms wrapped around them, the child, a girl by the length of her hair, had her face buried.

“Child, why are you here? Who let you in?” he asked, his normally rough voice softened so as not to frighten her further.

The sobbing increased as the girl lowered a fist and began pounding on the floor.

Einos, concerned, set the candle on the nearest table and crouched. “There is no need for that. You are safe here. Tell me your name, child.”

Curls fell over her shoulders as the young girl lifted her head and turned to face him. Einos tripped and fell backwards as he gazed upon what remained of her face. Both eyes were gone. Dried blood streaked down her cheeks.

She reached a hand for him and cried, “Why did I have to die?”

The girl screamed. The candle flickered, then went out, leaving the lord of Fent alone in the darkness. Einos scrambled back and managed to light the candle after several tries. When he cast the light into the corner, he found only stone. The girl, if she had ever been, was gone.

Giveaway

$10 Amazon

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts and a giveaway!

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"Hey Diane" song lyrics by John Kaniecki

When inspiration hits there is no denying the muse. If anybody wants to put a melody to this song leave a comment to get in touch with me. 

Hey Diane

Once the world was a wonderful place

Full of love full of joy full of grace

Nothing good lasts forever so it seems

It was hello nightmares goodbye dreams

Hey Diane I know you can

Hang on for another day

Hey Diane I know you can

Have the hope to pray

Hey Diane I know you can

Find that narrow way

Well darkness is a dangerous foe

And friends they seem to come and go

But somehow we learn how to get by

We find the strength to give another try

Hey Diane I know you can

Hang on for another day

Hey Diane I know you can

Have the hope to pray

Hey Diane I know you can

Find that narrow way

Somewhere I hear the sweet sound of angelic choirs

In a land so grand that none have any desires

By faith we walk this world though blind

Hold on to the love ones who treated you kind

One day you will awake to the light

And life will be an endless delight

Hold on Diane with all of your might

Tomorrow is going to be bright

Hey Diane I know you can

Hang on for another day

Hey Diane I know you can

Have the hope to pray

Hey Diane I know you can

Find that narrow way 

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"Whitey's On The Moon" by John Kaniecki

Here are some words inspired by Gil Scott Heron. It is from my fantastic poetry book called “Polishing The Fragments.” Take a look.

Whitey’s On The Moon

They are rapping in the ghetto which is now called the hood

Them white folks all say that it’s immoral and no good

But their sons go gangsta at least not while at school

And they’ll wander downtown just to be treated cruel

By some Crip hanging out on the corner trying to cope

Whitey will come on down and buy himself some overpriced dope

Jamming on the C.D. to something that is outer space

Cause they still believe in the ‘great white race’

Never mind in the mirror it is clearer who is the disgrace

But there is an element, a moment that they strive to grasp

They are petting the little puppy but it’s a rat with teeth like an asp

Well they blame every fault in their society on the poor

But they are glad to have them go and fight Wall Street’s war

They wave the flag, boast and brag, but not so secretly deplore

When the warrior returns, he quickly learns, the fire burns

As coked up traders score with whores to celebrate rising numbers

Meanwhile in grandest style God in His heaven silently slumbers?
Maybe He’s seeing how sadistic our overlords can really get

They crucified the Son of God that I will never forget

So when they tell me that He’s coming real, real soon

I sit back and relax and remember, Whitey’s On The Moon

I am stealing a line from Gil Scott of course

Cause according to Al he is the rapper’s number one source

I see Whitey talking indignantly about how the system is rigged

Slavery was a long time ago, don’t you dig?

As if Jim Crow was some kind of pleasurable poetic piece

As if the traps of racism fell and the hell offered some release

But the Piper was piping as Emit Till’s mother was weeping to his tune

But forget the regret cause Whitey’s on the Moon

Hell no, scream the poor white trash cause they can’t collect decent cash

The elite with venom sweet point to the man with the darker skin

He is the fault; blame them for everything evil that is your sin

So not too bright, they fail to see the light that the rich divides

Behind various ambiguous walls, the master he hides

Politicians are but a face to the disgrace but lack the real power

You’ll find out who is Satan’s mind when we come to the revealing hour

Remember in the anti December the solstice comes in the month of June

But have no fear, there is no atmosphere, just ask, Whitey’s On The Moon

Can’t pay the rent, and I’m too stubborn to truly repent

So here let me end calling out to my friends, you know who you are

I ain’t on the Moon, rather I am hanging in a bar on Jupitar 

Polishing The Fragments 

"Down On The Avenue" song by John Kaniecki and Ashish Kejriwal

This song lyric is heavily influenced by my experiences on Chancellor Avenue in Newark, New Jersey. It is but a snapshot of a multi-diverse culture. Also, I address some uncomfortable lies and truths, but I wonder if you can discern which is which. Of course, as always, I throw in my opinion. My very good friend Ashish Kejriwal was kind enough to put a musical interpretation to it. If you’d like to use this song lyric or see my extensive collection of copyrighted stuff let me know.

Down On The Avenue

It’s black and blue down on the avenue

The brothers are into free enterprise

And everything I say is absolutely true

Except in the parts where I speak lies

We’re all equal over here

See slavery disappear

Old money lost control

White men invented rock and roll

You ain’t got a clue

Till you’ve been down on the avenue

You can’t win with that imported sin

So get on your knees and be born again

The worst gang is dressed up in blue

And the F.B.I. haven’t got a clue

Nobody tells the company what to do

We’re all happy down on the avenue

We’re all equal over here

See slavery disappear

Old money lost control

White men invented rock and roll

You ain’t got a clue

Till you’ve been down on the avenue

I am still angry over Wounded Knee

I am still fighting to become free

And it’s sad that I know your history

When to some it is just a mystery

We’re all equal over here

See slavery disappear

Old money lost control

White men invented rock and roll

You ain’t got a clue

Till you’ve been down on the avenue

Government people are pawns of money

And this song isn’t meant to be funny

And they laugh all the way to the banks

And they don’t even give them any thanks

We’re all equal over here

See slavery disappear

Old money lost control

White men invented rock and roll

You ain’t got a clue

Till you’ve been down on the avenue

Listen To "Down On The Avenue"

Please check out these fantastic books of poetry. They are poetry for the average person to enjoy, easy to understand and easy to thrill and delight.

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"The Miner's Lullaby" Lyrics by John Kaniecki

Looking over my lyrics I came across this gem. Hope you enjoy it.

The Miner's Lullaby

Digging for gold in Mother's deep womb

All is sold for another to take and consume

All I am left with is my broken hands

And weary, weary eyes nobody understands

I am a worker a miner that is my trade

Misery and trouble are the wages paid

I would rather fly in heaven's blue sky

But it is hell below until the day I die

So I sing the miner's lullaby

Banished from the light of the day

It is a hell of a fight to earn my pay

But I have hopes for my children dear

So I toil and labor brave in my fear

I am a worker a miner that is my trade

Misery and trouble are the wages paid

I would rather fly in heaven's blue sky

But it is hell below until the day I die

So I sing the miner's lullaby

In a moment the tunnel turns to grave

Trapped a mile below never to save

It is always in the back of our mind

The mines are bitter the mines unkind

I am a worker a miner that is my trade

Misery and trouble are the wages paid

I would rather fly in heaven's blue sky

But it is hell below until the day I die

So I sing the miner's lullaby

May my son live to a gentler life

May he marry and have a pleasant wife

May he never step his foot a mile below

May his daddy's ways he never know

I am a worker a miner that is my trade

Misery and trouble are the wages paid

I would rather fly in heaven's blue sky

But it is hell below until the day I die

So I sing the miner's lullaby

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