First there's the drums, kind of a heartbeat sound to 'em... da.DUM...da.DUM...da.DUM...da.DUM... then you got those bass strings working in, same rhythm, same pace, slow and smoky. It takes a while but 'ventually there's a guitar building up to a melody somewhere behind the beat, and about the time you figure you got the melody worked out there's a voice. The voice is smoky too, rich and rasping, the voice of somebody who sings just 'cos he's too hurtin' to talk. It's not a beautiful voice, not trained, sure as hell not professional pop. This is the sound of somebody who's seen a lot of the years most other folks'll spend their whole lives just tryin' to forget or ignore, but instead this guy's turning them into a song that slides so deep into your heart that you can't forget.

Old blues. Old Jazz. Some of that old Gospel too, it's got that same ache so ancient it goes all the way back to original sin, and maybe even past that, dunno. At any rate, that's what I want to sing right now, but text's ever been a poor medium for music. I'll give it my best shot, though. Maybe it'll come out a bit pretentious, maybe I'll just be tryin' too hard. I can't not write it though, y'know?

So that's what I've sketched out in text here. An old, old story, set to a tune straight out of a wailing sax and a cheap guitar and the voice of an old, old man who no longer cares if anyone believes, only that he'll have said his piece.

Birth of the Crimson Cat Goddess

She took her
'fore she ever drew a breath
She took her
Outa hands as still as death
Laid her down
Washed her clean and wrapped in white
Thought this baby
Would follow momma in the night
Come the dawn
Little child woke to a sight

There were ten
Strong and sturdy in their prime
There were ten
Tried to cover up a crime
Each in turn
Had her momma for his own
Thought that nothing
Would ever grow where they had sown
Moons spin round
Baby's proof, their flesh and bone

Some they said
One more body does no harm
Some they said
Innocent's a sacred charm
Midwife tried
To escape their bloody hands
With one quick swing
Now another stains the sands
Fearful now
Ten ran off to other lands

Cry hunger
Suckled blood from off the dead
Cry anger
In still-warm flesh made her bed
When they found
The infant in such a state
Yet once again
While wiser minds all hesitate
A foolish girl
Caught up the child, bound fate to fate

She took her
From the empty place of birth
She took her
Home to walls and roof and hearth
Here the child
Grew to strength on milk and broth
One full year passed
Then she waned, her temper wroth
Till by chance
A cat's kill bloodied linen cloth

"Pray, give me,"
Begged the child with her first speech
"Pray, give me,"
Sweet her tongue, a heart to reach
Mother's hand
Hesitantly held the thing
Terrified as
Daughter's fingers, swift to cling
Brought to lips
And suckled deep the bloodsoaked thing

.................meh. Maybe I'll contine this at some point, maybe I won't. Dunno. *wanders off*