Down By the River || an enjolras & grantaire au
don’t you lift him, let him drown alive
the good lord speaks like a rolling thunder
let that fever make the water rise
and let the river run dry
In the Deep South everyone is religious and everyone has a secret. The rivers and streams run thick with blood and whiskey and scripture. Everything is covered in dust and the sounds of rusty porch swings creaking on porches older than your grandfather’s grandfather. In the Deep South two boys, one the Mayor’s son with an itch for a revolution and the other a novice drunk with barely a cent to his name, commit the biggest sin this side of the Mississippi. Under the abandoned bridge they shed their opposite exteriors and make room for dirty hands and even dirtier profanity. Their mothers will fall into early graves and their fathers will beat them with Bibles disguised as belts once their secret is let loose. In the Deep South, only the Devil will deal with sinners such as these.