Burning in the Blood (Preacher’s Ghost)

Burning in the Blood (Preacher’s Ghost) [Intro] (Distant thunder, iron chains dragging. A single fiddle moans. Then—stomp, stomp, stomp. Handclaps like judgment knuckles. Faint, ghostly chanting beneath: “Oh-ho… oh-ho… the fire walks…”) [Verse 1] I was born in a barn with a Bible in my fist, Mama said, "God don’t love a woman with a preacher’s kiss." So I kissed the devil on the courthouse steps, Told him I’d carry the weight of all I wrecked. Cotton fields weep when I pass in black, My shadow’s got a pulpit, my heart’s a cracked flak. I preach in ashes, I sing in rust, My psalms are carved in the bones of the just. [Chorus] (Gang Vocals Rise - Chanting, layered, ghostly) Burn, burn, burn in the blood, Wash your hands, but you ain’t good. Fire down in the hollow vein, Heaven don’t hear you, hell’s got your name. Oh-ho… oh-ho… the fire walks… Oh-ho… oh-ho… and it takes what it wants. [Verse 2] Met my love at the gallows, rope still warm, He said, "Darlin’, even sinners bleed for form." We danced in moonlight stained with kerosene, Two ghosts on a mission to be mean. He wore my father’s coat, smelled like rain and lead, I wore the chain he left me—buried, but not dead. The fiddle screams like a haint at dawn, And the steel guitar—it moans and yawns. [Chorus] (Stronger, with stomping and chain rattle intensifying) Burn, burn, burn in the blood, You can kneel, but you ain’t loved. Fire in the marrow, fire in the stone, The righteous rot, and the lost atone… alone. Oh-ho… oh-ho… the fire walks… Oh-ho… oh-ho… and it takes what it wants. [Bridge] (Spoken half-sung, like a fever dream sermon) The altar’s made of rust and rope, The wine’s just poison, and hope—oh, hope— is a slow train with no brakes on the bend. The saints all whisper, “Don’t come back, sinner— the door’s locked, and the key’s in your chest.” But I brought my own flame… *and I brought it to test. [Instrumental Break] (Twangy electric guitar spirals, fiddle saws the air, steel slides like a soul slipping. Chains rattle like penitent bones. Drums build like a coming revival—or reckoning.) [Verse 3] (Full power, Adele-style soul-blast, smoky and trembling with rage and revelation) I’m the hymn they won’t sing in the country church, The name they cross out when the prayer takes a lurch. I’m the wound that won’t close, the truth in the lie, I’m the woman who stared down the eye in the sky. And I burn. Not for shame. Not for fear. But because the flame remembers what the world won’t hear. [Chorus] (Full Choir, like a possessed congregation, primal and soaring) Burn, burn, burn in the blood! No more silence, no more mud! Fire in the cradle, fire in the womb, *God’s got mercy—but I’ve got room— for the broken, the bent, the blasphemous flock! *Oh-ho… oh-ho… we walk… Oh-ho… oh-ho… through the fire and talk… [Outro] (Fading, but relentless. Drums march off into darkness. One voice remains, cracked but unbroken.) So light your torches… mark the trail… The righteous sleep… but the damned… prevail. And if you hear a woman singin’ down in the glen— Better cover your soul… She’s already in. [Final note] (A single fiddle cry. Chains drop. Distant, echoing handclap. Silence.)