humanimalien — the house of the blackest sun

there is a house in moscow, they call the blackest sun,

and it’s burned the minds of many a soul — and, lord, i am that one.

my mother was an artist, she mixed my early dreams,

my father split the nucleus, and vanished in his schemes.

the only thing the seeker needs is glass and ash and tongue,

the only time he feels alive is when his sense goes numb.

my true father is a doctor, he heals what can’t be cured. he mixes light with chemicals, through sorrow he endured.

he listens to the silence now, where mother’s voice would ring, i’ll stand beside his weary heart, and guard her everything.

oh, mother, warn your children, don’t stare into the sun,

you’ll waste your days in smoke and fear in the house of the blackest one

i’ve got one hand on the railing, the other holds a flame,

i’m going down to old moscow to lose my face and name.

there was a house in moscow, they called the blackest sun,

and it’s burned the minds of many a soul — and, lord, i am that one.