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Misguided Ghosts by Paramore

The Lyrics

{Verse 1}
I am going away for a while
But I'll be back, don't try and follow me
'Cause I'll return as soon as possible
See I'm trying to find my place
But it might not be here where I feel safe
We all learn to make mistakes

{Chorus}
And run
From them, from them
With no direction
We'll run from them, from them
With no conviction

'Cause I'm just one of those ghosts
Traveling endlessly
Don't need no roads
In fact they follow me

And we just go in circles

{Verse 2}
Well Now I'm told that this is life
And pain is just a simple compromise
So we can get what we want out of it
Would someone care to classify,
Of broken hearts and twisted minds
So I can find someone to rely on

{Chorus}
And run
To them, to them
Full speed ahead
Oh you are not useless
We are just

Misguided ghosts
Traveling endlessly
The ones we trusted the most
Pushed us far away
And there's no one road
We should not be the same
But I'm just a ghost
And still they echo me

They echo me in circles

The Meaning
I have always loved this song since the first moment I heard it, and have known the words ever since. To me, it reminds us all that we all make mistakes and a lot of the time we run from those mistakes, but that's only human. We're all trying to find our place in this world and most of the time it seems like we never will until that moment of nirvana when we realize who we are. We all choose our own path, but on our way there, we need people we can turn to when times get tough and we can't keep running anymore because life is hard and we need a solid person through it, someone who may or may not be able to help us all the time. Life is a thing that is full of everything, pain, love, and sometimes compomises, but we have to learn to make the best out of all of it. We shouldn't all be the same and we should learn to live on our own, even if we need a little help along the way, that to me is the meaning of this song.

Expressive Piece #2 [homework]

The City

(Dedicated to my twin)

                Smells wafted from every street corner a potpourri of hot dogs, burgers, grease, and fries coming from every small food stand.  Calls from vendors determined to convince everyone on the street that their food was better than that of every other vendor boomed, jumbling into the sound of one droning voice talking about one food or another.  In every direction, people rushed, caught up in the high-speed movement of the never sleeping city life.  Like little worker ants, they went to and fro, on cell phones, carrying bags, rushing for trains, pushing for front runner in the struggle for a taxi.  Never a second to stop, not unless they had somehow been convinced otherwise by the vendors that never seemed to stop yelling, their voices trained to never get horse or dry from years of experience.

The streets were no better, gridlocked in the morning from rush hour, and speeding along at high rates in the slower afternoons.  Continuously honking of horns, shrieking of tires and the yelling of taxi drivers were something to be expected and normally overlooked.  They were responsible for the cough one might experience while first coming to the city, unused to the higher concentration of gasoline in the air.  The only stops were for the unloading and loading of passengers and the exchanging of money likewise.

That was the way of the city was it not constant moving never stopping never sleep just keep going and going with the exchange and giving of money like some useless thing and the pattern just kept going and going and  going…

The movement was home to me, but at the same time foreign, it was where I longed to be but at the same time did not want to return to because while the city was fast pace and you could have the time of your life, it seemed like the little things were taken out.  The city, a place full of noise, which left the taste of freedom on the tip of the tongue.

There’s something missing something no quite right but I’m not sure exactly what it could be or who could find it because maybe its lost and can’t be found because maybe I can’t find it here…

Then, everything stops, like an ice cube on your skin bringing goosebumps.  No longer on a city block, no longer consumed but the constant speed, sitting on a bench in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  Lights from the small shops light the sidewalks while people stroll by.  They aren’t in a hurry.  People taking their time, in a rush to go nowhere.  The cars make the vroom sound that is as familiar as tires churn against the street, but the horns don’t honk and the tires don’t slam to a stop.  Everything is slow and gives one time to appreciate the little things.

This is what I miss this feeling that I never have to hurry because if I’m a little behind I can just make it up later and for now I can just relax and feel the nice breeze on my check and breathe deeply in with the cool, fresh air because this is what it’s all about isn’t it…

Then with a blink and shove to the shoulder, the world comes rushing back.  The city comes rushing back and we’re not in Kansas anymore, are we?  Fast pace kicks in again and must move forward and not regret what we have lost or what we want.  We have to move with the crowd, or be run over by it.

Smells wafted from every street corner…

Expressive Piece [bellwork]

   The half drawn curtain moved slightly from the harsh wind whistling through the part way open window. The sound was almost harsh, seeming to make everything else in the room stir -
    What is that, I swore I just saw something moved I'm not crazy maybe it was the wind hopefully because I'm starting to -
    -and papers that had long since been forgotten stirred as if in hopes that fingers would lightly brush over them again and ink would seep into their close knitted fibers. Dust that had accumulated into layers, like that of thickening glaciers, over the years and was kicked up by the wind.
    It should sting my eyes the duct that is it should make me cough and gasp for clean air I should smell the rake oder of an old house -
   Old spider webs, which had long since been left behind by their occupants tore easily from the walls and glistened in the air as their silk moved like a graceful butterfly finally finding its wings.
    Surely, I should've felt as it brushed me won't it have chilled me would've had me wipping at my arms continously because of it sticky and webbish feeling what is going on how could this possibly not be-
    The entire victorian palor seemed to have long since been vacated. Its owners mysteriously leaving everything behind, even a small rag doll that was worn from the use of small hands.
    The fear should be a bitter taste in my mouth unable to change I should be choking on it screaming to leave to run I should run out the door but I can't leave why can't I leave the door is right there why aren't I leaving
    If someone would've been in the room at that moment, they would've felt something move then. Not the wind. It was a chilling movement, yes, but the wind had since died, the room going still.
   I can't leave the mirror then I need to see the look on my...I CAN'T SEE MYSELF! but I'm real I'm alive aren't I I mean I'm moving I'm real -
    The house at the end of the road had been abandoned for years. All its contents unmoved and untouched. Devoid of any living person. The owners had left, claiming their daughter - whom had died of a fierce, blazig fever and sickness - was haunting them. The towns people had never believed them, but never had the courage to prove them wrong.
    I'm real...
    The half drawn curtain moved slightly from the harsh wind whistling through the part way open window...

Everyday Hero Poem

Bowling with a superman ball,

My everyday hero he is,

His hard schedule it is not,

Better than anything else he is at helping others,

A large chunk of money he donates,

hundreds of kids he gives the chance to win scholarship,

the college, making it possible for students to go,

He has enemies, like any good hero,

Not with harsh words, he fights them,

But more than that he does,

among heros he is a hero,

Mentor my ,

coach my life,

other my dad,

An everyday hero who could possibly be?

Amazing what some people are doing, it is.

What makes people want to help others, I wonder.

They're great people, I realize.

It's quite possible to help.