This Much Counts as One · Track 19 · middle
Firkin
Firkin — ~9 gallons — the small cask, a quarter barrel. Volume: III. VESSEL. ANGLE: Small, tight, under pressure. Everything held in a container that keeps its shape. Sing the person or animal inside the unit, never the definition.
No audio yet — generation pending.
Lyrics
Yeah, bring it into the light. Cut the white oak in the winter, let it dry out in the dirt Fire bends the belly, it’s a heavy kind of work Swing the driving mallet till the hoop is sitting flush We cage the working liquor in a seal of river rush We take the wild and we make it behave Locking the weather inside of a frame Keep the shape, hold the line Don’t let the pressure warp the southern pine It’s a tight little room for the yeast to breathe Bound up in metal so the center cannot leave Listen to it hissing where the staves are coming close Packed with river flags to catch the foaming ghost One man can heave it if he drops his shoulder low But the timber still remembers how it used to grow We take the wild and we make it behave Locking the weather inside of a frame Keep the shape, hold the line Don’t let the pressure warp the southern pine It’s a tight little room for the yeast to breathe Bound up in metal so the center cannot leave We shave the wild forest down to something we can stack Line them up by dozens on the wagon running flat It’s a comfort, all this order, building exactly to the mark But you put your hand against the wood and feel it fighting in the dark Keep the shape, hold the line Don’t let the pressure warp the southern pine It’s a tight little room for the yeast to breathe Bound up in metal so the center cannot leave Tap the bung. Drive it deep. Nothing we measure ever really goes to sleep. It just pulls against the iron. It just waits.