Tarot · Track 58 · middle
Nine of Swords
RWS: a figure sitting bolt upright in bed with their face in their hands, nine swords stacked across the black wall behind, a carved duel on the bedside and a quilt of roses and zodiac signs. Keywords: three in the morning, anguish, the mind at night, suffering in full the thing that has not happened.
No audio yet — generation pending.
Lyrics
[Intro] [Verse 1] It is three-fourteen in the center of the dark, And I am sitting bolt upright with a hammer in the chest, Pulling up the heavy woven roses and the signs, To cover up the panic that is ruining the rest. Press the heel of the hand to the socket of the eye, To stop the spinning ceiling from descending on the bed. Nothing in the apartment is actually on fire, But I am burning in the theater of my head. [Chorus] And I stack them on the plaster in the dark, One, two, three, horizontal in a row. Forging the disaster in the chambers of the heart, Suffering an ending that I do not even know. Four, five, six, hanging heavy on the wall, Every single failure I can possibly design. Seven, eight, nine, waiting for the sky to fall, Trapped inside the terror of the mind. [Verse 2] Down below the mattress in the carving of the frame, One man holds a club and beats the other to the floor. I traced it with a finger, I was looking for a name, Now I am the victim and the victor and the war. Did I leave the oven on? Did I wreck the interview? Did I say the one thing that will fracture the routine? The logic is impeccable, the evidence is loose, The brain is just a pattern-matching, terrified machine. [Chorus] And I stack them on the plaster in the dark, One, two, three, horizontal in a row. Forging the disaster in the chambers of the heart, Suffering an ending that I do not even know. Four, five, six, hanging heavy on the wall, Every single failure I can possibly design. Seven, eight, nine, waiting for the sky to fall, Trapped inside the terror of the mind. [Bridge] Calculate the ruin, calculate the rent, Calculate the fraction of the money I have spent, Trace the constellation on the blanket to the thread, Standing with my balance on the precipice of dread. It hasn't happened. It hasn't happened. None of it is real but I am paying anyway. [Chorus] And I stack them on the plaster in the dark, One, two, three, horizontal in a row. Forging the disaster in the chambers of the heart, Suffering an ending that I do not even know. Four, five, six, hanging heavy on the wall, Every single failure I can possibly design. Seven, eight, nine, waiting for the sky to fall, Trapped inside the terror of the mind. [Outro] Nine heavy blades suspended in the black. They don't make a sound. They don't even cast a shadow on the wall. Face in the hands. The sun is three hours away. I'll just leave the light off.