These six strings are a loom on them I weave my song.
We are mixed in a womb and when we leave we long.
This hole inside cannot be filled.
It is an invitation to the world:
to go outside at night and lean beside the naked moon
and learn just what it means to mourn,
she is a lover from her brilliant torn
and the little stars around her are her crown of thorns,
she is a lover from her brilliant torn.
I would burn the world to find a tiny patch of quiet
where these thousand words that hammer on the tin roof of my mind
would sleep,
I would bleed the last one out of me, and go there to retire.
With fallen leaves to cushion me and fallen snow to blanket me
a mound of earth for pillow, and for company a willow
and the smell of ancient empty air
a bone abandoned by a bear
one hundred thousand years ago, at the dawn of orbs.
Out in outer space they spun
a purposeless collection of them
spun and spun, spun and spun, spun and spun
like widows while long winters run
cling to cloth and lace, embrace the thread of time
and beat back dread.
Because of love. Because of being only half sublime, and half of blood,
born to breed, made to change
seed to flower, flower to fruit, fruit to seed,
These six strings are a loom on them I weave my song.
We are mixed in a womb and when we leave we long.
This hole inside cannot be filled.
It is an invitation to the world.
credits
from The Blessed,
released February 9, 2020
Written by Sofi Thanhauser. Guitar and vocals by Sofi Thanhauser. Recorded by Jeremy Krinsley.
Moody and weird experimental pop from Melbourne follows the intuitive logic of the surrealist game from which the group takes their name. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 8, 2020