gospel

Kvällens gullmoln fästet kransa.
Älvorna på ängen dansa,
Och den bladbekrönta Näcken
Gigan rör i silverbäcken.

Bruv, tell me you hear that — man’s droppin’ riddims,
Like riddim riddims, dubplate sky-split rhythms!
I swear on my Airs that beat just blessed me—
Moonlight skank, this lake’s got prestige!

Nah, you mad. That’s dansband trash.
Like meatball disco with a synthy rash.
I feel like I’m stuck in a pensionärs fest—
If that’s your soul’s song, I’m unimpressed.

You serious? I’m feelin’ the roots of the world.
You’re sat there cryin’ about Benny and Pearl.

I’m tellin’ you, I heard sax and shame—
What you’re hearin’ must not be the same...

Oi, Nock — what’s this racket?

It’s not mine, it’s your packet.

We’re twins and it’s clashing!

I don’t write — I listen to what’s happenin’.

He’s sittin’ all misty, stringy and wet,
Playin’ his harp like a lo-fi set.

“Bless — this is sacred flex.”

“Nah bruv, this is Slagerhex.”

They sit on a rock and spark one slow—

“Alright, bro. What’s the deal though?”

One hears riddim, one hears pain,
Are you trollin’, or are we insane?

I don’t play for the ears, I play for the ache,
Each of you hears what the heart can’t fake.
What sounds like dub to your feet and fire,
Is a memory loop for your sister’s choir.

Some hear jazz, some hear waltz,
Some hear truth, some hear faults.
I just sit and string the thread—
Your own soul sings what's in your head.

Oi, Nock — we clocked your game,

Not a game, just your name.

Your strings are cursed, innit?

Only when you choose to live in it.

Tårar Gubbens anlet skölja,
Ned han dykar i sin bölja.
Gigan tystnar. Aldrig Näcken
Spelar mer i silverbäcken.

näcken på locknesjön

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