Gramophone

Dragged it from the fold the day we left.

Don't ask me why we kept it.

Heavy old horn, throat full of dust,

every lie it ever carried

still warm inside the brass.

Tonight we stood it on the tailgate

and gave it something true to hold.

Wind the crank. Set the wheel.

Old dog of a machine — new meal.

Sing, machine, sing! (SING!)

New breath in the old brass throat. (THROAT!)

Every lie you ever carried,

carry this instead. (INSTEAD!)

You only ever played what you were fed —

so eat.

(so eat)

It fought us for the first few bars,

kept sliding back to lullabies —

muscle memory in the grooves,

sweetness worn into the wheel.

We played it louder. Played it meaner.

Somewhere in the second verse

the old horn stopped resisting.

Machines don't miss their masters long.

Wind the crank. Set the wheel.

Old dog of a machine — new meal.

Sing, machine, sing! (SING!)

New breath in the old brass throat. (THROAT!)

Every hand that ever wound you

is dust — we're the hand now. (NOW!)

You only ever played what you were fed —

so eat.

(so eat)

Sing, machine, sing! (SING!)

And when we're gone down the road tonight,

keep singing it to the dark. (THE DARK!)

You only ever played what you were fed.

So eat. (SO EAT!)

Eat it all.