Hákarl — Hotter Than Lava Edition by The Slug Bubbles

[Intro – Spoken narrator] Still no eruption… well, here’s a little tale to pass the time. This is Hákarl - Hotter Than Lava Edition. [Verse 1] In a tiny fjord village where the cold winds roam, Old Jón said, “Try the shark ... it’ll make you feel at home!” He popped off the lid; the crowd fled the room, And the clouds outside formed the shape of doom. Someone gagged, someone swore, someone tried to pray.. But the smell rose up like it wanted to stay. Jón just shrugged, with a twinkle in his eye: “It's only the shark. It’s supposed to make you cry.” [Chorus – Lift energy, make it rowdy & memorable] Don’t cook it! No, don’t cook it indoors... Your curtains will cry and escape through the doors! Don’t cook it! Please take my advice... That shark will haunt your sofa for the rest of your life! Don’t cook it! If you value your room... ’Cause it won’t clear out fully till the twelfth full moon! Don’t cook it! We beg and implore... For your house will forever smell like fermented gore! [Verse 2] The Vikings were fierce, but they weren’t immune... Even they feared the Shark of the Doomed Lagoon. A saga was written, carved in bone: “If the shark is warm… TURN BACK. GO HOME.” They tried blessed snow, they tried cold sea air, they tried dragging the house out to Þingvellir square... But the scent held tight like an oath from Hel: “I’m part of your soul now. You shall not dwell.” [Chorus – Full festival energy] Don’t cook it! No, don’t cook it indoors... Your wallpaper will leave and file for divorce! Don’t cook it! Don’t test your fate... Not unless you want your neighbours to evacuate! Don’t cook it! If you value your room... It won’t clear out fully till the twelfth full moon! Don’t cook it! Hear our desperate cries... It’ll cling to your walls till the twelfth moonrise! [Verse 3] A fisherman swore he was tougher than most... Said, “I fear no shark, no smell, no ghost!” He fried up a piece just to prove he was bold... Then ran from his house before it got cold. His boots turned green, his curtains sagged, his neighbours fled past him, trying not to gag. He whispered, ashamed, as he fled the scene: “Some things on this earth… should never be heated again.” [Bridge – Spoken, dry & storytelling] Someone microwaved it once, the villagers whisper still… The microwave was buried on a lonely hill. No marker, no flowers, just a chill in the breeze... And the faintest scent of shark and broken dreams. [Final Chorus – Big closing lift] Don’t cook it! No, leave it outside... Even trolls turn back when they smell that tide! Don’t cook it! Cold is how it's done... Take one deep breath and RUN. Just RUN! Don’t cook it! We’re begging once more... ’Cause once that smell gets in… It lives in your soul forever more!