Some of the verse could apply to anyone,some of it is personal.
Here goes:
"The demons lord and roam the island..."
That's pain buried inside ones heart.The island is the heart,the demons are the pain.The lording part,ruling,came as an afterthought.
"...bridges burnt by the princes of light..."
If you're stuck on an island,you need to use a bridge to get away.You could also use a boat(or swim!),but for the sake of the verse we're using bridges.The bridges are the avenues through which we're suposed to be expressing our pain to those we expect to care about us,our princes of light.But those princes are the very people who'll **** you up the most.Your friends,family,loved ones.They burn the bridges.
"...the totem pole bows to the storm(wind could work here just as well),and the sands dance with the sea..."
When land surveyors cut up some piece of land,they usually plant long poles with some stuff tied to the tops of the poles to mark out the borders.I think these poles are called totem poles.If they're not,then totem poles serve a similar job.Now,if you were to rebuild the burnt bridges,you'd need to mark out where you'll dig the trenches and all that.You'd need the totem poles.But your efforts to make it allright aren't working.The wind is blowing hard,and your resolve is crashing.The totem pole is being blown by the wind,and instead of writing that,I chose to use "...bows to the wind..."I liked the master/slave vibe to it.As for the sands,if you're to rebuild the bridges,you need a firm foundation.But as the proverb goes,a foundation built on sand won't last.And if the sands are shifting,well,you're outta luck,it won't work.And here,the sands are shifting.When the tide comes in,it keeps moving stuff slowly,including the sand.So the sand is being moved by the water.Or to put it differently,"...the sands dance with the sea..."
"...the baby kicks,the breast is bitter,the baby wails,the milk is sour..."
That's basically the relationship I had with my mother.We didn't always get along.And when I was contemplating writing to her and talking to her about us,at that very moment I was thinking those things,her rigor mortis was just about kicking in.She really tried to do me right;she really did.I can see clearly now,let's say.I need not say more.
"...and as they come to take her away,she imagines it was all in vain."
Again,my mother.I'm basically going back to her final moments.
And there you have it.
I wrote upto "...the milk is sour..." on a Friday,over approximately 30-60 minutes.Then I had to go.When I came back to it(the next day),I couldn't quite make it flow,hence that degeneration that's apparent(I think) from the line "..and as they come...".It's a lack of writing finesse,I guess(hey,that ryhmes!).
Considering that that was the first complete verse I've ever writen(besides some shairis-swahili poems- I did in high school),I'm getting impressed by myself.If I work at it,I think I could end being something of a writer.
Unfortunately(or who knows,maybe fortunately),I didn't get selected for the show.But it was fun trying,and I met quite a few cool dudes(and girls-beautiful ones who play the guitar :) ).There's this one dude,bespectacled,goateed,afro-puffed and albino.He taught me a Papa Wemba song(well long,should you be familiar with african artists)which I sang during the second round of the auditions.I would love to be in a band with this dude.
So you see,Eggmeister,I knew what it was about.And with regard to artists being able to recognise what they write about,here's an article you might find interesting:
http://www.guitarnoise.com/article.php?id=427
