July 2022 – ANTIC CLAY

SING BLOOD by The Sweet Meat Love & Holy Cult Written by Antic Clay You’ll watch your father hanging from a lesser tree. Their hands all frantic about his business and all love reduced to effigy. And every visage is all malice and bland catastrophe. Hate for which there is no ballast but lightless fire and hollow creed. Hey! Sing blood. Feed the swollen god. Prod the bodies, lance the lords. Plunge your song into each advancing horde. Sing blood! Fuel the rising flood! Prick and goad the bloated waves, til something red is wrought from you and tossed into the grave you crave yeah, along with your song. Appeased by a yellow need for all to sing along! So come on! Come on! And sing blood! You’ll watch your father hang and then you’ll dance on by his grave. You’ll breathe one baleful breath before an idiot makes you a slave. At gunpoint. At moneypoint! To shit. To shine. Touché! And now you stand here and christen me with a bloody black toupee. Hey: Sing blood! Fellate the flailing god! Prod the pumpkins, spear the gourds. Stroke the warwhale and douse the drowning hordes! Sing blood! They can’t stanch your song! All that happens, it happens in spades, while one red thing is wrought from you and tossed into the grave where you composed one holy song. Afraid for tomorrow when they eat your only son! So come on! Come on! And sing blood! Come on! Hey come on! And sing blood! (Sing a shallow gallows song. Sing along to the wrong song. Around here we devour our own. Around here we eat what we’re shown. Swing on the gallows, shallow throng. That’s you where the shadow is long. Down here we devour our own. Down here we eat what we’re thrown.) Lyrics and Music by Michael Bradley Copyright ©FurnaceSongs (ASCAP)