Harvest Song

So we’re all fucked on pickle and vodka

Yeah we’re pie-eyed on white bread and gin

Watch us stumble around as the sky gets ripped down

And put lit matches out on our skin

As we crash through the gates into barley

Knocking skulls together like glass

Fireball in the sky searing right into I

Falling down with our face in the grass

You can’t touch us

We’re fluid and streaming and vicious and small

Screaming hymns at the insects and nettles

We stumble but just don’t know which way to fall

Sing a hymn for the god of the barley

Sing a psalm for the god of the grain

With a scalpel or five, skin a corn doll alive

And stuff wildflowers and leaves in its brain

As we barrel on down through the valley

Scarecrows wide-eyed and flailing on through

Yeah we’ll all come alive on the day that we die

And we’re bringing you down with us too

Trapping bugs underfoot in the garden

Making dolls out of henbane and pins

Taking pitchforks in hand as we tear up the land

With blood boiling inside of our skin

Then we all sit around in a circle

Pick away at each other like dogs

Watch our limbs fall away and lie still in the hay

Rolling over like butterfly cogs

You can’t touch us

We’re fluid and streaming and vicious and proud

Screaming hymns at the insects and nettles

And stinging a hole through the whimpering crowd

So, grab a scythe and come join in the harvest

And we’ll offer you up to our gods

Suck the magic from plants, do a juddering dance

Feel your feet leave the track that you’ve trod

‘Cause we’re flying on henbane and mandrake

Yeah we’re fucked up on things that we grew

And as we skim through the trees, we’re a glint in the leaves

And everything, all at once, is true