Lightning Ink Spider Crawl

Ink on the page, like a spider it crawls,

Writing the lightning that lives in these walls.

A scale from the heavens, a bend from the gut,

Everything's open that used to be shut.

One hundred and twenty, then two hundred more,

Building a storm on this wooden-plank floor.

And oh, let the shredding begin,

Let the fire reach deep within!

A face-melting fever, a mountain of sound,

Lifting the listener right off the ground.

Symmetry breaks in a beautiful roar,

Giving them heat until they can't take no more!

(Until they can't take no more!)

Back to the ink, and the sharp-pointed pen,

I'll play it all over, then play it again.

But for now, it's a sketch on a yellowing sheet,

Where the silence is heavy and bitter and sweet.

The lightning is captured, the thunder is tamed,

A fire that's burning, but hasn't been named.

And oh, let the shredding begin!

Let the fire reach deep within!

A face-melting fever, a mountain of sound!

Lifting the listener right off the ground!

Symmetry breaks in a beautiful roar!

Giving them heat until they can't take no more!

Giving them heat until they can't take no more!

The paper is still.

The fire is done.

(Just a solo in the setting sun.)