My son, my son1 borne from the war. We trade shovels for swords.2 My son, my son, inherit the earth,3 inhabit the wound.
Oh how far we fall…we fall.4
My love, my love5 captive to lusts: consumed. My love, my love buried beneath the vile machine.6
The earth with a final gasp shook free from our inventions. Grace and nature7 reconciled I heard, “It is finished.” The final seal was broken, the concussion blew me back - I teetered on the edge of re-creation and the wrath. Nine Lovers stumbled out from their shells of brokenness, they reached inside their wounds to find the seeds borne from their suffering. Coalesce upon me to plant the tree of life8 inside the heart of the machine.9 Reach inside - heal the wound - make us whole.10




Behind the Song:
1 The generation who will follow us (the Nine Lovers)
2 Reversal of Isaiah 2:4 and the Wasteland (Vechnost) narrative
3 Matthew 5:5
4 René Girard, I See Satan Fall Like Lightning
5 You, the reader
6 Tower of Babel
7 Terrence Malick, The Tree of Life
8 Revelation 22:2
9 The center of the Panopticon
10 The Deluge, Come Wind, Come Weather