I couldn’t get from poetic writing back to songwriting today. It took me hours, and luckily, a few poems to which I can return. Yet I still can’t really tell what the difference is. This needs more contemplation. Perhaps it is a limitation of my musical skill that I can’t feel the swell of melody in my poems yet. Maybe it will come with time. Maybe not. Eventually, through musing on synaesthesia, on the nature of inorganic and organic matter, through adventures diving into the sea and becoming one with other creatures there, I arrived. From buried palaces in the sea, to wondering whether they would rise again when we cause a cataclysm from apocalyptic dreams, the song came through like that last ray of light tonight, before the sun slipped away.
Blood Moon Rebellion
We dig ourselves in deeper
How much longer can it last
We can read the land from the mountains
And steer in the night by the stars
But nothing calms greed for gold
And coal and sand and diamonds
We love these imperial new clothes
We can’t hear the children laughing
An apocalypse is coming
It’s written in our bones
We coat our lives in cling film
And batten down our homes
You can’t sail these high seas
You can’t outrun that wave
Can you turn and tell the children
That they will all be saved?
That’s a fiercer wind that’s blowing
And it always gathers speed
Before the dark moon rises
And it’s feeding on our greed
They said plastic was our fighting shield
Protection from all weather
We should have known that oil for blood
Would make the blood moon redder
So gather on the ridges
Light your torches, hold them high
And call to all our islanders
Run now! Head for the sky!
The wind blows out the guiding lights
The rain is made of salt
The seas smash all the boats to grit
But the moon sees who’s at fault
Gather your beekeeper netting
Soak it in mulberry wine
Protect your face with ochre
Take your place in the line
Find your blood rebellion
Link arms and march in rows
Speak your truth from higher ground
The emperors have no clothes