Homunculus from I by Spectral Snake

Chilly toes, a corpse made of mud, scroll of a soul written in blood. Gonna crawl inside your skin and stitch up your heart so we can begin.
I've got no man but the one I made. He's got old bones from a young man's grave. Seldom speaks and he always does my bidding.
Animated earth drawn forth from dank and daring dirt. Parted with my handiwork: make way for mother's machine.
I've got no man but the one I made. He's got old bones from a young man's grave. Seldom speaks and he always does my bidding.
Set fire to the chapel for me. Lay waste to those who abhor me. Play a song, tell me a story, watch over me until the night is done.
From it you're made, to it you'll return. Burn the scroll, fill the hole, and be done. From it you're made, to it you'll return. Turn back, turn back to dust.
I've got no man but the one I made. He's got old bones from a young man's grave. Seldom speaks and he always does my bidding.
Set fire to the chapel for me. Lay waste to those who abhor me. Play a song, tell me a story, watch over me until the night is done.

• Folk
• Rock
• jazz
• psychedelic
• singer-songwriter
• Kalamazoo