Smallest Word in God’s Mouth (Yod) — Lyrics

Sneak peak the album as it’s being written. Some songs streaming, the rest wait until April.

Truth’s got a beak, not a tongue for pity.
I trade “why me?” for “why not me?”

Intro

The Funeral continues.

I’m the smallest word in God’s mouth,
said in dark when light ran out.

Yod.

There is no courage in waiting.
Do what must be done — no second guessing.
Every ghost behind wants its job back.
Return to motion — don’t crawl back to lack.

Verse 1

Ash floats like it forgot how to die.
Funeral’s mid-wing — not over tonight.
First four ghosts buried. Fifth lights the torch.
Crows take perch.

Murder’s group therapy — birds with breadcrumbs.
Beak to the wound — we eat the story.
Everything starts where Will cuts through —
move your hand, the world moves too.

Scripture written by a trickster.
Say what hurts out loud.

That’s how you move through the ritual.

They think I’m tiny. I think I’m enough.
Crow laughs: “Point-size love.”
One spark starts the rest of us.
Funeral moves when somebody will.
Live life — or the wound fills.

Pre-Chorus

What I don’t live rots between.
Hold truth hostage — body tells me.

Smallest word in God’s mouth —
that’s how Yod lives in the lips.
Truth’s got a beak, not a tongue for pity.
I trade “why me?” for “why not me?”

Chorus

Crow said, let there be Yod.
Murmur in the murder — we feast what’s owed.
Grief made communal. Truth made edible.

Crow said, don’t look —
be the gate.

Smallest word in God’s mouth —

Yod.

Verse 2

Beak at the gate — let me through.
I was the watcher. Now I’m the wound.
Aim for God — grab a mirror.
Every listener a pallbearer.

Smallest word in God’s mouth —
spark in the throat of funeral crowd.

Lust of result makes the magick sick.
Black light over the crime of self.
Grip too long — lock the wing.

When I release, fire gets wise,
finds its own wind, makes its own rise.

Will that feeds ego eats its own hand.
Would you still do it if nobody knew?
Is it the smallest sufficient move?
Micro-decision. Precision within.
Yod’s the one who could. Spark is me.

Pre-Chorus

Tremor in wrist. Migraine message.
I trade what if for what is.

Smallest word in God’s mouth —
that’s how Yod lives in the lips.
Truth’s got a beak, not a tongue for pity.
I trade why me? for watch me.

Chorus

Crow said, let there be Yod.
Murmur in the murder — we feast what’s owed.
Grief made communal. Truth made edible.

Crow said, don’t look —
be the gate.

Smallest word in God’s mouth —

Yod.

Bridge

Let wound decide which side survives.
Funeral’s work is how we stay alive.

Fire spoke — soft but loud —
smallest word in God’s mouth:

Yod.

No more should — that shackle of doubt.
Treasure pressure. Trust combustion.
The gate is sealed — in Crow we trust.

Final Chorus

Crow said, let there be Yod.
Murmur in the murder — we feast what’s owed.
Grief made communal. Truth made edible.

Crow said, don’t look —
be the gate.

Smallest word in God’s mouth —

Yod.

Outro

So it is said. So it is done.
This is the closing of Yod.

Crow wipes beak.
Ash leaves its tongue.

Says:

“Funeral’s moving. Leave the light on.”