There is something
wrong in the echoes,
they move in like song,
a vinyl skipping the grooves.
Scratching itchy sound.
You can feel it on your tongue
like the fizz of electricity
before an almighty storm.
There is something wrong.
My head is fuzzy,
Fizzy, I’m standing on the spot,
but the world is spinning too fast,
making me dizzy.
I feel I’m falling into a pit,
fiery ashes rising up from it.
It’s all gone wrong. Somewhere.
I can feel it in the air,
in the warping atmosphere.
There once was peace,
now the peace has gone.
There is something very wrong.
It is drumming in my head,
a tension headache, rumbling.
Something is scraping the strings,
something is coming.
It’s out there in the darkness
echoing like a violin, screeching
like a cat. It is piercing the air,
strangled squawks, until they snap.
A clap of thunder cracks the night.
Are we under attack?
Something is so very wrong.
Menacing laughter under the echoed dawn.
The call of the void, the endless discord.
The hum is back, restored. To pull apart
every strand of sense, to rip at the heart
of our self-defence, to leave us whelping
and shamed, in suspense at what it plans
to do in our names. The hum is back
fired up to attack, the sound
at the heart of the universe, weeps,
as the tensions stack. Aching frames
start to feel the drain,
and down comes the rain.
The hum is back, ready to inflict pain.
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