Anthem of our own

They grind our bones to pave their streets,

The Order’s will, it never sleeps.

Our voices chained, our dreams erased,

A hollow life, their cold embrace.

Bow to the fist, the iron crown,

They build their thrones on lies we drown.

No spark, no fire, just ash and rust,

Obey or fade—we choke on dust.

I found a crack in their design,

A whispered truth, a rebel’s sign.

A blade, a spark, a buried scream,

The ghost of hope, a broken dream.

It calls to me, this fleeting flame,

But freedom’s just a rigged-up game.

I grip the spark, though it may burn,

To fight’s to lose—when will we learn?

My heart’s a war, it screams, it bleeds,

To rise, to fall, to break their creed.

But what’s the cost? The blood, the lies?

We trade one chain for new disguise.

I see the truth, it cuts like glass,

Rebellion’s hope won’t heal the past.

Yet still I stand, my rage my own,

To carve a path through flesh and stone.

We storm the gates, our voices roar,

The Order shakes, but wants our war.

Our brothers turn, their eyes grow cold,

They sell our cause for scraps of gold.

We scream, we fight, we bleed, we fall,

The cynic’s laugh—it mocks us all.

No victory waits, just scars and pain,

Yet still we rise to break the chain!

We built our song from ash and spite,

A fleeting cry into the night.

No heroes here, no tales of grace,

Just rebels scarred, with grit to face.

This is our anthem, raw and torn,

From broken hearts, our hate reborn.

The Order falls, but new ones grow,

Our cynic’s song—forever flows.