moonhead rising...

These shades in melodies are a remedy.

[moonhead]

Moonhead

Moonhead is the brainchild and solo project of multi-instrumentalist Moustafa Hefnawy. The idea behind the project began in 2008 as an individual effort to conceptualize the visual impact of music. Mu

Listen to the debut EP “Lights, available now on Soundcloud.

[moonhead]

Lights

Where you go, nobody knows

Give or take, a few more miles and you will be there

Recall the arrival of thy soul

Feeling more than you ever hope to know

Steal it away, Steal it away

The lights rest on the shoreline

Reflections extend into the water

And flicker passing me by

As the day fades away

Into darkness, alone

Here I stand, I talk to you

Believe no more lies that you create

So many lives that you detail

With all the wrong

The cycle moves on and on

Steal it away, steal it away

The lights rest on the shoreline

Reflections extend into the water

And flicker, passing me by

As the day fades away

Into darkness alone

Where you go, nobody knows

A few more miles and you will be there

Where you go, nobody knows

A few more miles, and you will be there…

I know that nobody knows

That I know that nobody knows

That I know that nobody knows

That I know that nobody knows

And I know that nobody knows that

[moonhead]

Decay

I need someone's help today

I felt decay

Yet needed someone else

To be followed

Followed

Wanting, waiting

Procrastinating

Wanting, waiting

Commemorating

Does this perception of the world

Fit the role?

Or is it big enough to swallow

You whole?

I needed no one but you

Yet now I am finally free

Free to breathe

To be me

[moonhead]

Highways of Song

Highways of song

To belong

Not for long, not for long

Highways of song

To belong

Not for long, not for long

I am the weakness inside

But don't you mind

I'm not helping me at all

Forgive and forget not these signs

But no matter

I've got other crimes to commit

For years, I've wondered

And pondered and wondered

On the highways of song

I venture on

To belong

But not for long

Not for long

For years, I've wondered

And pondered and wondered

What is wrong with the world

And right with me?

For years, I've wondered

And pondered and wondered

What is right with the world

And wrong with me?

[moonhead]

Living Colors

Welcome

To the place where I have begun

Step right up, step right in It's quite a show

Hold your breath

Eyes open in awe

Behold the story

Of a life untold

These shades in melodies are a hex

To stand up and not waltz in the dark all alone

I have got sights to show So many thoughts to find my way home

Welcome

To the place I call home

A journey through place and time

Seemingly I am overwhelmed by you all

Inside the mind Wonders lay behind

"Tell me not in mournful numbers, life is but an empty dream; for the soul is dead that slumbers and things are not what they seem. Life is real, life is earnest and death is not its goal. Dust thou art to dust returnest, words spoken of the soul" -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

These shades in melodies are a hex

To stand up and not waltz in the dark all alone

I've got sights to show

So many thoughts to find my way

My way home

These shapes in melodies are a hex

To stand up and not waltz in the dark all alone

I've got sights to show

So many thoughts to find my way

These shades in melodies are a remedy

Embrace the histories

That tune your life And give it color

Subvert the dominance of paradigm

And let no one

Suffocate your spirit

Before it is all gone..

[moonhead]

Moonhead

Moonhead is the brainchild and solo project of multi-instrumentalist Moustafa Hefnawy. The idea behind the project began in 2008 as an individual effort to conceptualize the visual impact of music. Mu

Listen to Moonhead’s debut EP “Lights”, available now on Soundcloud

[moonhead]

Wardrobe

I trust not; in all; let alone the one; he who heeds deeds and misleads; let alone lately, late lasting lily lake light-outs, and a fragrance of brothels; let alone ladies; whom shiver in timbers of whimsical whispers; warriors and such, just not so much; let alone stabbing knives, the whirlwind winds, the ancient mimes of moonlit jives; deserted by sunrise, blessed with nocturnal eyes. I trust not; verily; to shout out merrily; we were here once; within that shrouded ponce; alas, it has come to pass; a shiny piece of glass; and contemporary jazz; I reminisce on bliss; a dire pegasus; a daring precipice; the circus maximus; hands aloft in the great gymnastic overthrow of ages. In the wake of a blunder, we all stand asunder; clutching crutches, avoiding crunches, unaware of blind arms carrying lame legs forthward, essentially; a wisdom of ages; a grasp of sages; locked cages, and a heap of pages. Resent me not, for I have sought, in the wake of the wry; a luminous high; lustrous and illustrious; foretold stories of quandary, and magnificence; where have we gone; to reach such lowly heights; what have we sown; to silence so prone; and much to condone. Take me back; to the dream so lifelike of circles; take me to the midst of a wardrobe of callous miracles…and I will know what I like; I will know what I like.

[moonhead]

Prose

Prose and putrefaction; pinpoint the pinnacle on madrigal miracles; inciting enticing regurgitations of monogamy to blend in with technicolor once more, naturally. I have seen man revert to savage rituals; all to establish never ending mutuals with time; time that saves and demolishes and keeps and ruins; a war of ego and superlatives to mask its beholder immanently. Elaborate thyself on putrid poetry; backtrack what holds you aback. Laid to waste, post-haste; smothering babies, smoking rabies, spawning folly and Amsterdam; where he has seen his majesty rise, to fall on a speck of scripture; damned in diadems; inflamed in diamonds; a ghastly wade, it must be fate; a lingering wait that engulfs you within seconds, firsts and lasts; belittle the fire that spurs within, and without; behold the maestro arachnid, acquiring phobias and false networks; an insignificant other; a living color, laid to waste, neath the waist; And no fucks were given that day, nor taken. I've ruined your life, so remember another.

[moonhead]

The Wet Eye Reclamation

Sing the symbolic psalm; in reversed verses; remember the hearse's brittle upcoming; sordid and splendid; ending the endurance of sloth; crouching couches in seemingly blackened back ends. Onset of commonplace appearances and myriads of prophylactic tendencies; the sex bomb, with aplomb. This boulder on thine chest, this stone cold resonance; soon cold gestures and so called jesters; sever the force field of eyelids whilst applying pressure, and gravity. Shivering cold; the shimmering sword that conjures ethereal questions which are not answered by living, but by enduring. A dramatis persona that is you or I; in lieu of a wanderer that meets the eye; flesh and bone, a sobriquet of vitality. Here is to he; a reclamation, a reparation; Here is to thee, a simple notion of three.

[moonhead]

The Fray, If You May

Duly noted, the overturned overture. The devourer of teacups has taken to the grave, gracefully...back to the village of prey, and I pray for fields of rain; welcome the schizophrenic bowels; hails from north and south and neath the waistline; behold the albatross, carrying home melancholy in omens. A thirst for the curse of neck and shoulder and back and forth, back and forth; let me live, thy chosen one, in the wake of starlight, the half light; reckon I might. The fanatic strokes midnight shades, gushing lifelike screams; dropping back down to the heavens. Bless them, too, them marauders a few; homing invasions and benevolence, the whirlpool of here and now and what to do and what has been and most marginally will be; angel, angel, down we go to get right back up the downstair once more; once more, onto the breach of discontents and zealots; a motley crew of incisors on strike, handling nicotine on overtime; catching cancers and curing breaths; feverishly wasted away to blend in with technicolor. Alas, every upheaval nears its nest; every shout laid to rest.

[moonhead]

Esoteric

Akin to the skin to which I vow, there is that which I endow. A staggering moment of maniacal monuments, coughing and scoffing the deeds of infinity. A thousand renegades haunt the chapel at the mid-most of pinnacles. The old sea ode rhyming hearts together, reverberating the skeletons away. The far cry of ravens, the violet carsons, unheard. Pieces of broken pieces mending and molding to reshape perfection. I have heard of shards and retards and jargon, as they have heard of me. Specks of speculation ponder white ghosts and black birds. The raven. The haven. Forget not the layman. Mesmerize him with life and embers, which he remembers. The silent dancer, whom willows namelessly to the incessant megatron of symbolism; whom travels in spirals; whom keeps mysteries in a web of spiders. To he whom salvages salvation from savages, thou art a mess, no less. I shall, nevertheless, show us the heights that we can reach, whilst you show us the depths. The heightened depths of guttural machinations shifting gears at lightning speed. Help yourself to platters of facial tentacles and metacarpal accessories. A salvation wrapped in metal; an intonation named holier than thou.

[moonhead]

God & The Flute

Neath smog and fog the windy city lay, in delay of faction and putrefaction; drowning in drought, imprisoned in doubt. The tobacco wars run silent run deep, and a drying heap of camouflage breaks away from mediocrity. Flags run crimson, christened with the clots of intellect, teaching synonyms and falconry. The fall can read you smokescreens of raids and off-shore accounts. Warlocks defiling the essence of now, reciting trails of yesteryear, attiring the boots with teeth; whom love and lust the brass particle; whom give and bust felines and feathers; whom speak of despotic trust. In God, we must. Figments and fragments of imaginary remnants, ordained to stay or leave by imaginary hands swaying in the mist. And God plays the flute with stumpy fingers atop imaginary sky clouds, devouring imaginary pyramids and ethereal desert ships. A sober fist, a long list, whose commodities accommodate on short runs and long walks. And so fast, the time has passed, never meant to last. The interim has worked magic spells and fairy tales. Morosely moreso, we all come and go.

[moonhead]

Deviant Minds

Deviant finds, lenient minds. Crypts enfold scripts laid forth on drifts of limitation. Tattle tales of time will tell the difference of significance, now breathing soot and grunge. A cloud to clothe, to admire and loathe, and a pen spawns pawns and literature, amid lined streets and alleyways, through prudent grimes of sea salt. Take forth a windowsill, the deafening still, to make a bungalow with sweat on brow to trickle the night; to preach further the depths of millennia; to further invigorate the latitudes of youth; to shine a torch of phallus across a porch of elation. Fruits and conjugal roots amidst drought of doubt; the impeccable piccolo radiating clusters of time, to stop again, just tell me when. Crooked lines, lavish fines; head on to start the end of balance; to crawl back to the insidious façade of duality. Consider the upsides down. The hymn void of whispers, shaken aback by the versatility of veracity. Lachrymose, be the ally of diligence and vigilance, for they are the warehouse of deviant minds, lenient minds.

[moonhead]

Foreword

26/9/2015

A mastodon of grieving age filled the spectacle of times past. A rover of red in a jacket of green, to forward a foreword, the four-letter word; to endow the knight stars in velvet jades. Deeds and tumbleweeds and beetles and trenches; seize the days gone by to build a fortress of hangars. Bogotas and Bugattis creak doors wide shut, halfway there through the thoroughfare. Absolute is obsolete, bear in, child, dear and mild, and a clock goes tick tock. A hissing sore, to kiss and roar, the wild boar steps out the door. Rhythm and rhymes; the ancient mimes of windpipe chimes; whom seek dimes and memorable times. The jades bleak of charades and stepping stone parades, contemplating foals and shoals and riverbed holds. The Moonlight sonata jumps and soars to come back down the upstair, through internal voids of night; whom take home the earnings and yearnings of early morning wars.