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about
As with many of us brought to cult as children, my young mind was molded by cryptic apocalyptic prophecies, bizarre and fantastic blood rituals, potlucks, and the grisly Legend of the Christ.
We were raised to believe that the veil between worlds is one of flesh, gore, and violence. Sin and sacrifice; redemption and Armageddon; that the Universe demands an incredulously painful penance for our mistakes–and a hefty price for transcendence.
For some, this time of year is about family, Peeps, and eggs. But for many of us, it's a reminder of monstrous cruelty, authoritarianism, and control. For Easter Sunday, this song explores the REAL Jesus: a 12-foot, multi-headed monster from the woods that demands we eat his flesh and drink his blood. Once he becomes a part of you, you will never die... no matter how much you scream and beg.
lyrics
Verse 1
There’s such thing as a Jesus and it watches you at home.
On seven bulbous heads are seven gnarled crowns of boney thorns.
A body like the dinosaurs you don’t believe exist.
Its forked tongue is slitherin’ round and lickin’ at its lips.
There is a Jesus and it’s standing at your door.
Its many limbs are knock-knock-knocking and the pounding’s getting more than you can bear.
“MAKE ROOM FOR JESUS!” Shrieks the creature through the wind,
for he knows your wicked thinkin and he wants to take your sins.
Chorus
The grisly legend of the Christ
Verse 2
Staggerin’ over everything, shadow like the night,
Three eyes the size of saucers leanin’ down, and at the sight of you
it thumps a seething fist against the window that you’re standin’ by —
a rain of blood and broken glass and it puts its holy hand inside.
There is a Jesus and it’s clutchin’ at your clothes!
It’s giant sickly fingers wrap around and won’t let go.
EAT ME AND DRINK ME, cries the savior, sacrificed.
But the blood don’t seem to be what you remember from the Legend of the Christ.
Chorus
The grisly legend of the Christ
Verse 3
There is a Jesus, and it’s crawling in your mouth.
And once it eats its way inside you it’ll hate it’s way back out.
GIVE ME YOUR MOTHER AND YOUR CHILDREN, cries the lamb.
For unless you hate your father too, your wicked soul is damned.
Fear the Jesus, fear the child of the sky!
For the one that wipes away your tears will never let you die.
YOU ARE MY BODY, cries the savior, sacrificed.
Cuz now your flesh and blood belongs to Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
"Irreverent yet poignant, the experimental indie Ghostbustery of Jim Frankenstein evokes a malty, existential angst with the bourbon oak undertones of a bassy pasquinade. Jim is truly the soul of an old man who died asking 'why?'" -Stone McSullen
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