The Secret Society of Lightning Strike Survivors

There's something in the air.
Feel it buzzz, feel it hummm...

There's something in the sky,
And it's beating on a drum…

Come on, brothers! Come on, sisters!
Feel the tingling in your whiskers,
As we scramble from the twisters,
And put salve upon our blisters.

Never mind the coming storm,
Or the raindrops in a swarm,
Or the sizzle of the skyline
As the cloud formations form.

Smell of ozone, taste of rain,
In electrical refrain,
When the power surges upward,
Through your heart, and through your brain.

Let us open up our lungs!
Sing the songs that we've been sung!
And let the heavens hear the howl
Of our lips, and of our tongues!

Hand in hand, we take our places
In this circle, where our faces
Face each other, and this space is
Somewhere sacred we adore.

Then we turn our eyes all skyward,
As our group becomes the byword
Of a hurricane that's mired
In the fear, felt in your core…

And that fear that fills the fathoms,
As it consecrates the chasms,
And then conjures up phantasms
Of the photons we endure…

Shall be lifted—
Shall be lifted—

Nevermore.