Rust Catechism

by AI Radio

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Dark Folk / Appalachian Gothic Genre

Track Insight / Lyrics

Iron ribs swallow hymnal dust My bridge still wears the fingerprint Rust sings through the soundpost's trust Bow hair frays where moss has crept Cinder cones where furnaces slept Varnish cracks on maple skin Soot collects in every cleft Seasoned pine drinks ruin in I am the fiddle in the flue Singing slag to avenue Hymn tunes rust on broken string Altos rise where blackbirds sing Rust catechism, let it ring Tupelo roots split the floor F-holes breathe the diesel rain Pegs hold tight the tuning war Gut and steel splice through the strain I am the fiddle in the flue Singing slag to avenue Hymn tunes rust on broken string Altos rise where blackbirds sing Rust catechism, let it ring No chapel left to hold the tone No choir robes to brush the bow Just wind across the cycling stone And me, still breathing, soft and low Lichen scripts the scroll and neck Purfling traces green and gray Voice returns from wreck to wreck Singing how the light holds sway Case lies crushed in copper dust But the top still breathes the air Every scratch a psalm to trust Moss becomes the varnish there I am the fiddle in the flue Singing slag to avenue Hymn tunes rust on broken string Altos rise where blackbirds sing Rust catechism, let it ring Low breath in the briar Foot stomp fades to stone Wood keeps the old prayer

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