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Son of the Queen
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Son of the Queen
Isolating the cross-hatched memories of those starless nights when we searched for light to pour through the wounds we carry around, fashioned after and fawning, we, now downward, fall. A cast-iron bodice over the whimsical has us chained to everything. It’s been let in, so let it stay. Put your mouth where rats have been. Falling in and out of a sleepless dream, on the wisp of some chromium tide; mother of lies, and son of the queen. So let it stay. It’s been let in, so let it stay. With our old friends piled high, and our pockets full of crippled knives, we carve our own hell out of everything. It’s been let in, so let it stay. With empty hands, and our mouths full of wilted knives, we carve our old selves out of everything. It’s been let in, so let it stay. Blessed are the led. Blessed are the lame. Put your mouth where rats have been. Falling in and out of a sleepless dream, on the wisp of some chromium tide; mother of lies, and son of the queen.
Written, performed, and recorded by Rain Fice, December 2018 to November 2019, in Bancroft, Ontario, Canada. © 2019 Packard Black Productions all rights reserved
