The Feathered Crown

The Feathered Crown is a card of pride, loss, and the aftermath of hubris. It draws upon two rich veins of folklore — the Appalachian belief in a feathered crown found beneath a dying person’s pillow, and the ancient myth of the Sirens and the Muses. Together, these stories form a layered symbol of reckoning, the echoes of lost glory, and the burdens of victory. In Appalachian tradition, discovering a tightly woven feathered crown in a pillow was often seen as a sign that the soul of the deceased had passed to heaven, a mysterious mark of spiritual judgment. In mythology, after the Muses defeated the Sirens in a singing contest, the Sirens were stripped of their wings as punishment for their arrogance. The Muses, triumphant, wove the plucked feathers into radiant crowns — symbols of their victory but also of the destruction they wrought. This card stands at the intersection of triumph and regret. It speaks of victories that come at a cost, the spoils of conquest weighed down by lingering guilt or sorrow. The Feathered Crown reminds us that success without humility invites ruin. It asks whether our pursuits of recognition or superiority are worth the burdens we carry in their wake. --------------------------------------- Drums, Percussion, Keyboards: Ron Thomas Guitars, Bass, Banjo, Lyre, Vocals, Midi: PS Perkins Mixed and mastered by Mystic Tape Deck Dedicated to Josephine of the Mouse Folk LYRICS --------------------------------------- I saw your feathered crown, the one you keep under your pillow Did you think that you could hide it from me? As you don your supple plumage, tell me did you win it truly From the fairest maidens of Persephone? Are your songs of grief and woe, are they songs of deep regret? With feathers plucked from silvery Sirens wings? Or from the tails of rainbow ravens perching just outside your window Waiting for the passing ships to hear them sing Waiting for the passing ships to hear you sing Dashed upon the rotten rocks of harpy limbed nightingales Where tides resound with death inducing cries As the sailors climb and clamor for a seat upon the razor And a melody to cling to as they die Rejoicing in the arts of their inglorious ease, Freely frolic where the churning waters flow Diving from the clifftops, splashing down into the seas below Charming in both poetry and prose Alluring in both poetry and prose Whosoever dare to wear the feathers in their hair Like the parrot and the magpie in a cage That we may divert our stare from the circling of the bear While standing proud upon the heavens final stage When the starry sisters nine, with their bellies full of wine Have bested you at your own foolish games And the ships all passing by which now leave you there to die Having never even known your given names Having never even known your real names I saw your feathered crown, the one you keep under your pillow Did you think that you could hide it from me? Oh, Josephine, you should have known better.