I am a thunderstorm of a girl.
I’m all false vibrato.
I’m an omen for the lightning yet to come.
I’m sound and no movement.
How many unheard ballads have been sung in my name?
How many false prophecies have been written from my inspiration?
How many unholy temples have been erected in my honor?
If I could, I’d blaze every single one to the ground.
But I’m all false vibrato.
I’m just an omen.
I’m crackle and no explosion, ember and no fire.
You are an earthquake of a boy.
You’re the vibration to my vibrato.
You’re the procession to my precursor, the main event to my foreshock.
You echo my sound and add your movement.
You lend your voice to my ballads.
You fulfill the prophecies I inspired.
You erect sacred sanctuaries in my honor.
You split the earth and swallow my “temples” whole.
But you’re all revolution.
You’re just the follow-up, the second act.
You’re upheaval and no forewarning.