White Noise Lyrics Will Wood Novels & Stories

“I'm not a stranger to the dark…” my legs tap softly to the ground, once I hear her voice come on. My lips whisper her lyrics, my voice singing through the loud hummings in my ears. It soothes my skin, laying my back straight, as my mind awakens to the voice of freedom. “I won't let them break me down to dust…” my feet swerve, turning, while wiping the last speck of dust off the table “for we glorious!“ I push my notes, shutting my eyes, ready to blast forth.

I placed a hand on my belly and hoped my baby was still there. For a moment, I sniffled my tears and hoped Vincent was nearby to save me. Then, there was silence. I could only hear the sound of my breathing. It was odd as a moment ago I thought I heard the sound of the nature in the woods but then it was all gone. Dead silent. GRRROOOOOWWWWLLL! AUUUUUWWW! I gasped hearing the sounds of wolves howling in the wood. It felt as if they were speaking to each other. One by one.

He saw the look on my face showing that I had just gotten it, and so he smiled. “Go on,” he said. I stayed silent in my head, as the rhythm of the music with the lyrics spelt out loud flowing through my head. "Off through the new day's mist, I run out from the new day's mist I have come I hunt, therefore I am Harvesting the land, taking of the fallen lamb" It was actually a song by Metallica titled Wolf and man. Damon stood shocked staring at my lips as I spelt out the lyrics confidently like I owned them.

White noise filled my head, a metallic taste of bile rising in my throat. And then everything changed. Clive held me close to him, stroking my back with his hand and whispering soothing sounds in my ear. My heart was pounding, I couldn't comprehend it, but I knew I was safe. Eventually, the white noise receded and I heard his words.

I feel totally comfortable with no worry. "So should we compose a song or should we just sing?" He asked. "Let's just sing" I said and he replied with an 'okay' turning on his piano. "Let's sing the one we composed yesterday" He said and i nodded. We cleared our throats.. "Ready?" He asked. "Of course" I said happily. We started singing; 🎵Wounds fades with time. 🎵Our worlds begin to cross path. 🎵You made me exist in your world.

The wind poem she came up with was written as such: Whispers Soft voices the wind carries How far will they go? Those words ever be heard Caresses the trees’ leaves, its skin the green grass What does it say? No one knows Can you hear it? Who will hear it? The words so soft It rustles the dirt passing by creatures above and below flowing through the air Where will it go? Does no one hear it? Those forgotten whispers Whose are they?

My fingers slid across the keys, carefully pressing down on the right ones, creating music instantly. Automatically, a smile burst out on my lips as I felt the vibrations and tones circle me. The words formed on my tongue before I could stop them, accompanying the tones: “Can you feel the love tonight,” I almost whispered, not wanting to be loud, but not able to be quiet either. “It is where we are. It’s enough for this wide-eyed wanderer that we got this far.”

I raised the mic, closed my eyes, breathed deeply… And I sang: 🎵 “I wanna come home to roses…” The line cracked like lightning in a stormy sky. Pure. Raw. Crystalline. The cheers blurred into silence. 🎵 “And dirty little notes on post-its…”🎵 🎵 “And when my hair starts turning gray…”🎵 🎵 “He’ll say I’m like a fine wine, better with age…” 🎵 My voice trembled, but didn’t falter. The room fell into a hush so deep, even the air stilled.

Kairi, abandoning all dignity, clapped his hands in a deliberately off-beat, complex counter-rhythm. The hum in Silas's throat grew stronger. He lifted his recorder, still silent, but his fingers moved over the holes, remembering. The bubble shuddered, contracted— And with a sound like a thousand sheets of parchment being torn at once, the silencing field shattered. Noise crashed back in—the fire's crackle, our ragged breathing, Maia's joyful bark. And over it all, Silas, playing the "Cobbler's Jig" with a ferocious, defiant joy, each note a spit in the eye of the silence that had tried to claim him.