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Volcarona

from Tabernacle by Shunner

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about

volcarona. 637 sleepless nights in a mass grave. a water strider. maybe some other false insects, but not many, and only temporarily. then! relentless, awful imagery, haunting even. never odd but close, approaching, like the alien you think i’ll never be. i’ll make you pay, though. you’ll feel the drop in your pylorus eventually. eventually. it’ll all happen eventually. just like everything else. all of it. every last heartfelt drop.

lyrics

elizabeth between the column, caterpillar centaur
lashing paper plate pauldrons to her shoulders with a vengeance,
foot deep murk water versus all the gunslingers,
child labor thousand eyes rip back the ornate door,
beware beware canary wreck the mineshaft’s final call,
front row at the witch trials,
you end empty, cold, and alone.
insert coin to try again.

little death came walking in all her sheepskin lavender,
hopeful gods dripping from the sockets,
charm bracelet wings in full bloom hoping something more substantial,
witness under evergreen labyrinth,
barn owls long spent sleeping pills an ulcer not a grimace,
crushing the last hearth between her black talons with a whisper:
you will outlive your words.

and the truth stood its ground, all hackles aflare,
mashing the b button but evolving anyway,
pinecone tongue woyzeck focus, macerated oatmeal raisin in the bowers of the youth
burn it all to the fucking ground, the heart piece sighed, echoing the sigh, echoing the sigh,
burn it all to the ground.

these hands built more than just the happiness,
and they will again, from the periwinkles weighing the sea change,
wrap the spires in carbonated love.
some day we’ll all sleep magnum opus.
how does it all taste? like victory? iron? the right blend of acid rain?
the sky sighs so many daisy questions. hurl the worst ones back.

persist, oh persist, you disheveled broodmothers,
pumping out textbook doomsday clocks,
this is something else, something thrashing,
pod people vehemence, a razor clam shell.
evil birds don’t exist, do they? not this time.
Lord, give me something new to cry the Nile about.

and the truth stood its ground, all hackles aflare,
I’m the first Volcarona in Pokemon Go,
pinecone tongue woyzeck focus, macerated oatmeal raisin in the bowels of the youth
burn it all to the fucking ground, the heart piece sighed, echoing the sigh, echoing the sigh,
echoing the sigh, burn it all to the ground.

we have failed the universe, be ready for a seam to break,
but until then, slide the needles into your shoes. be a secret.
weave until they listen, every hole a siren. let them know how it feels.
one day all your fairy tales will finally be enough.

credits

from Tabernacle, released September 24, 2016
emerson fd - vocals, lyrics
amos damroth - guitar, production
elias jarzombek - synth, bass, percussion, production

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