Lyrics by the composer:

A flicker of wings, a flash of jet-black

I was unprepared for such an attack

Of vicious venom, so sweetly it slides

Into the dark depths of my soft insides.

You cut into me, sliced between my legs

Planted your sole seed, can’t hear as I beg

To be freed from this, my prison of flesh

As I am consumed, down to my last breath.

Could this great pleasure and pain be all mine?

Could this be love that you’ve planted inside?

As my mind withers, my bliss but grows stronger

As your love-spawn grows and tears me asunder.

There is a frightening parasitic insect species native to my local park—the tarantula hawk wasp. The females prey upon tarantulas by stinging them between the legs and planting a single egg upon the abdomen. The larva then enters the spider and eats around its vital organs until the very end when it finally emerges, ready to lay further waste to arachnid-kind. Positively grisly. Should a human be stung by one, the sting is among the most painful in the world…

I was struck by the great aesthetic beauty of this species—the kinds native to my area have striking, jet-black bodies and bright orange wings, which signal their poisonous sting—and thought that somehow, the grisliness of their reproductive process might lend itself to song. For whatever reason, my first instinct was to create a sexy, cabaret-style tune. After all, Björk’s remarkable love song, Virus opens with the line, “Like a virus needs a body/As soft tissue feeds on blood/Someday I’ll find you, the urge is here.” In some ways, this piece was a writing exercise for myself to see if I could take the most taboo, objectionable subject matter and turn it into a genuinely alluring piece. However, it was also was an exercise in me facing a deeply ingrained fear, as I have had a morbid fear of parasites since childhood. This tarantula's passionate song is my way of processing the fact that I LOVE how creepy and gross this wasp is and what it does. It's a strange thing to delight in something so horrible, and my inability to understand my own attraction to the horror of the subject matter led to the imagining of this bizarre fantasy. The text should not be read too literally (particularly with regards to gender). My sole intent was for the listener’s experience to mimic the plight of the tarantula: desiring something—or someone—you probably really, really shouldn’t. Surely none of us have eluded this feeling.