In case you don’t know, I’ve been obsessed with producing songs lately by exploiting the amazing AI service Udio. I’ve already made and released two full albums based on a strange story I wrote back in 2021, named Odes to My Triceratops. It follows the adventures and misadventures of a trio of friends who live in a town lost in the map. The main dude is a songwriter named William Griffin, who’s passionate and sensitive, if a bit unhinged. Another character is William’s next-door neighbor Claire Javernick, a blind redhead. Then we have Lorenzo, who’s a sentient triceratops for no justifiable reason. You can download the first two albums of this story through this link.

I’m still remastering the third album of Odes to My Triceratops, but I had already planned to make alternate versions of the fourth album’s opener. In the past, I thought that producing different versions of the same lyrics and structure was a bad thing, I suppose because regular albums don’t do that, but I don’t know why I would be subjected to the same rules. So I present to you the fuzzy, unnerving bitpunk version of “A Tribute a True a Work of a Art.”

Lyrics below, same as the original version:

Are you truly acquainted with William Griffin?
I know the prick, yeah.
What’s your impression of him?
He’s the biggest dickhead I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.
If he were a salad, he’d be a crap salad.
That’s a very strong opinion, sir.
I don’t think he even has friends, or is loved by anyone.
Can you believe he goes around calling himself a songwriter?
He did write many songs for the band Sexican Dinosaw, including “Raptorial Bliss,” and “I Have a Tail Like a Sword.”
Yeah, utter shit-piles of stupidity and impropriety!
So you wouldn’t consider him an artistic individual?
You might say that he’s artistic in his depravity!
Listen, his lyrics are depressing as fuck.
They’re like what a seagull would crap out after eating a depressed philosopher.
Can he be blamed, though, for his descent into madness?
Word on the street is that he’s afflicted with PTSD.
Post-triceratops stress disorder?

If I had to summarize William Griffin
Into into a meaning meaning-devoid action it it
It it would would be would be would be would be be would be by by writing
Writing this this song this song this song this song song.

These lyrics are bullshit,
So I’m skipping to the point.

Ladies and gents, gather round!
To the far reaches of the land, let it be known,
That the songwriter-slash-murderer William Griffin
Is the biggest coward in the world!

Do you have some unfinished business?
Does a part of you still cling to hope?
Please make sure to tell me, boy.
I gotta know.

In case you don’t know, I’ve been obsessed with producing songs lately by exploiting the amazing AI service Udio. I’ve already made and released two full albums based on a strange story I wrote back in 2021, named Odes to My Triceratops. It follows the adventures and misadventures of a trio of friends who live in a town lost in the map. The main dude is a songwriter named William Griffin, who’s passionate and sensitive, if a bit unhinged. Another character is William’s next-door neighbor Claire Javernick, a blind redhead. Then we have Lorenzo, who’s a sentient triceratops for no justifiable reason. You can download the first two albums of this story through this link.

I’m still remastering the songs from the third album, but I couldn’t help myself, and produced the first song, current opener, of the fourth album of Odes to My Triceratops. This is a tribute to those who have found themselves staring down into the abyss, only for a faint voice deep inside them to whisper, “Not yet.”

Lyrics below:

Are you truly acquainted with William Griffin?
I know the prick, yeah.
What’s your impression of him?
He’s the biggest dickhead I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.
If he were a salad, he’d be a crap salad.
That’s a very strong opinion, sir.
I don’t think he even has friends, or is loved by anyone.
Can you believe he goes around calling himself a songwriter?
He did write many songs for the band Sexican Dinosaw, including “Raptorial Bliss,” and “I Have a Tail Like a Sword.”
Yeah, utter shit-piles of stupidity and impropriety!
So you wouldn’t consider him an artistic individual?
You might say that he’s artistic in his depravity!
Listen, his lyrics are depressing as fuck.
They’re like what a seagull would crap out after eating a depressed philosopher.
Can he be blamed, though, for his descent into madness?
Word on the street is that he’s afflicted with PTSD.
Post-triceratops stress disorder?

If I had to summarize William Griffin
Into into a meaning meaning-devoid action it it
It it would would be would be would be would be be would be by by writing
Writing this this song this song this song this song song.

These lyrics are bullshit,
So I’m skipping to the point.

Ladies and gents, gather round!
To the far reaches of the land, let it be known,
That the songwriter-slash-murderer William Griffin
Is the biggest coward in the world!

Do you have some unfinished business?
Does a part of you still cling to hope?
Please make sure to tell me, boy.
I gotta know.

---

In the original narrative written in 2021, there’s no fourth “album,” or set of songs. William commits deathcide against himself. However, as I was producing the seventy-five or so songs, at some point I got the sense that this more detailed version of William wouldn’t go through with it, so I’ve decided to pull a Hotline Miami and split the timelines. It’s all uncharted territory from here.