Mothbound by Blackbird Belle

i was carving out a niche, hunting beasts within the gloaming
rogueish ronin, toe-to-toe with this witchcraft they kept honing
they’ve weaponized the throne, recognize ‘em as iller omens
eyes open to lycanthropes they’re disguising in woolen clothing
those demon-eyed oni - unalive ‘em upon arrival
survival’s tied to liars who’re sworn in over their bibles
we’re born for more than dying over border lines and rivals
of these egoists omnipotently vying to steal our styles
for ascension, though tensions run immeasurably high
i send ephemeral lucid memories from crystalline scryes
that I’ve recorded, they’re scored upon these portals in rhyme
like flowing torrents from this orator who’s shorter on time
this is discordance, struck chords that’ll order for our accordance
we’ve crossed swords with a swarm of humming hornets
distorted as blades flash in a dance of lithe contortion
till we excise these cancerous masses of scorned ordnance

i’m sick of snakes who snicker as the skelly of the lamb shakes
a deafening death rattle as the mantle of every man breaks
the soothsayers say it’s better if we all am-scray
before the meteors, the leviathans, and the lands quake
a mandate from faithless mantises on mandrakes
i’m breaking from tradition, religion, and every planned fate
a contradiction, of riddles, tricks, and hot takes
for god’s sake, let us off of this rock before these dams break
and not on rockets concocted as pet projects
of fucking ghouls who’re fueling our doom for their deeper pockets
we’ve seen their crooked chakras, they’re misaligned, obnoxious
an entanglement of webs interwoven within the toxic
and all i’m seeing are cloven hooves and profits
off marginalized folks preyed upon for some stock options
this rubicon we’re crossing of dubious rubes flocking to cruel intent
the ruinous stench of our lost conscience
so are we raging against the dying of light
like luminaries trying to carry forth a torch in the night
or are we lepidopterans in transformative flight
sacrificed by immolation to funereal rites
a culmination, a storied war born from agitation
a hidden blade nestled in a glade of imagination
adjudication, i laid to rest my reservations
to revelations, succumbing to fate that’s grown impatient

"I'll tell you stories bruised and blue, of drum machines and landslides."

open.spotify.com
music.apple.com
SoundCloud
Instagram
Twitter