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Baba Yaga House is the music division of the-school.org.
It is storytelling, Sponsored by The-School.org. Coming Soon. Baba Yaga House2008.
Song Info
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.6 MB • 128 kbps • 3:54
Lyrics
The house of Baba Yaga had always been, and the world expected that it always would be. It had come to exist neither before the witch herself, nor after, but rather in unison. Under a generous moon, the house took on colors of faded timber, made so by the thick and petrified logs which resembled bone and sandstone more then any kind of wood. They appeared almost as ribs on a skeleton made of chalk. But the house’s stern strength could be seen in the ridges and veins of the wood, which seemed to pulsate and pump plasma made up of iced water and sodium through enlarged arteries. You would appreciate these traits more had it not been for the two giant legs which supported the foundation. 7, Maybe 8 feet to the base lay the four-toed feet and talons normally attributed to a kind of wild chicken or hawk. These claws gripped at the Earth, as if expecting the world to turn on its head at any moment. It is possible that the legs had sinister motives, but only the house knew for sure. It was also not known whether these feet felt pain, or the speed they were capable of. Although no one desired to acknowledge these questions out loud because no one was foolish enough to desire the answer. The house curiously contained no formal entrance and one could spend a lifetime encircling it, hoping to catch an unprepared door lying in wait for an uninvited guest. The enclosure was not a complete one, as there lay a chimney on top, to the left, only determined so by the feet that supported it. This chimney was a modest size and many deduced it was the means of access for Baba Yaga. It had been first dictated by tongues long since buried that the citation of a combination of unknown words in an unknown language would cause a door to appear, and that Baba Yaga herself would honor the speaker with her company. Perhaps the only issue debated more then the existence of the house itself, was why anyone would even try to enter it. When not playing host to the witch, the house was known to trod through the thickest branches in the darkest of woods, answering neither to time, nor the laws and ideals nature had intended for the rest of us. The house did not feel jealousy or contempt for the lack of attention it received. Tales and legends surviving in writings passed from old to young would dedicate only a few pages to its being. It had been brushed lightly into the backdrop of time’s great canvas. Indeed, it had been blended so masterfully that some would even debate whether it was truly alive, or merely a clever trick orchestrated by the witch herself. It was especially hard to say because the last known claim to its presence existed on tired documents whose frame was stained with ink that bled from its original standing place, perhaps tired of its place in history and longing for a new master who might lift it to prominence and away from skeptical eyes. -Or so one might think. In actuality, the tarnished papers were quite content to lie comfortably upon one another and pass the hour hand with talks of what might become of them. Light that disturbed their slumber only occasionally was nonetheless detested, and rightly so. For when one becomes ignored for so long a time, or is forced to accept anything for such an extended period as they, one can get used to it. But no matter how hard the arguments and pages of deflated debates tried, they could not bring their allegations to fruition, either way. Of course, in the end it did not matter. Whether these parchments agreed or not, the house of Baba Yaga endured.
