I remember when you said to me
there’s a place out there called Foamhenge—
a full-scale model Stonehenge made of foam
hiding out in north Virginia,
and we really ought to go there.
Just you, me, and two hundred miles of road.
But somewhere we took a detour;
you saw potholes in the path
as our I-81 turned to rubble.
So I gave you your space,
knew it wouldn’t be long.
I guess everything I knew was wrong,
and we’ll never go to Foamhenge.
We’ll never make that passage.
We’ll never photograph it.
We’ll never drive on past it.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge,
or track down some old poet.
We’ll never conquer Renn Fest
or make it through Birdemic.
We’ll never see the pillars of Foamhenge.
Some would say that it’s a way to go
just for ninety-three foam tablets,
but I’ve seen things turn magic through your lens.
And adventure doesn’t need a rhyme
when it’s poetry in motion,
and it’s not the foam that makes it radiant.
But then nothing lasts forever
and some things never begin,
and no construct of foam stays eternal.
I saw miles ahead,
but I guess all paths divide
when you’re focused on the road behind,
and we’ll never go to Foamhenge.
We’ll never make that passage.
We’ll never photograph it.
We’ll never drive on past it.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge,
or track down some old poet.
We’ll never conquer Renn Fest
or make it through Birdemic.
We’ll never make our way to Foamhenge.
We’d ponder all the mysteries of foam
and why the Great Foam Druids made it so.
They say in Foamhenge, anything can happen.
They say in Foamhenge, all your dreams come true.
They say past Foamhenge, the road goes on forever
together,
but we’ll never go to Foamhenge.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge.
We’ll never make that passage.
We’ll never photograph it.
We’ll never drive on past it.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge,
or track down some old poet.
We’ll never conquer Renn Fest
or make it through Birdemic.
We’ll never fly to Bosnia
or celebrate your book launch.
We’ll never be together.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge.
We’ll never go to Foamhenge.
Tamar Berk pairs trenchant autobiographical lyrics with brittle guitars for songs that will win over fans of early Liz Phair. Bandcamp New & Notable May 8, 2022
An ambitious pop song cycle about human loneliness and fear, thick with harmonies and buoyed by tight musicianship. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 27, 2018