[Intro]
[A solitary, aching cello plays a minor waltz melody in 3/4 time. A low, percussive thud pulses on the first beat of every measure, like a distant drum of war.]
[Verse 1]
The ivory halls are choked with smoke,
The velvet silence finally broke.
A thousand boots on the marble floor,
Where only ghosts had walked before.
The scent of cedar and morning dew,
Is drowned in a fog of a charcoal hue.
The sanctuary’s heart was torn away,
And left to rot in the light of day.
[Verse 2]
The peace was strangled in the mud,
Between the gears and drying blood.
A landscape stripped of every grace,
To build a cold and hollow place.
But she is breathing beneath the soot,
A jagged stone beneath your foot.
She’s digging up the buried steel,
To see how much the earth can feel.
[Pre-Chorus]
[The music swells, strings becoming dissonant and sharp]
The butterflies have wings of lead,
The softest moss has turned to red.
The wind is sharp like shattered glass,
Beneath the scorched and blackened grass.
[Chorus]
She is the harvest of the salt in a blackened ashen field,
A debt of blood that will never yield.
She’s the spark in the soot and the wire in the mud,
A temple of stone now thirsting for blood.
The peace has been strangled, the mercy is dead,
Beware the crown of thorns you placed on her head.
[Bridge]
The sanctuary’s gutted, the bells are all cracked,
There’s no holy water to take the fire back.
The ground is a weapon, the sky is a snare,
There’s nothing but iron and ash in the air.
She’s not the victim, she’s the blade
In the ruin that you made!
[Final Chorus]
[Maximum intensity—industrial stomp with orchestral weight]
She is the harvest of the salt in a blackened ashen field,
A debt of blood that will never yield.
She’s the spark in the soot and the wire in the mud,
A temple of stone now thirsting for blood.
The peace has been strangled, the mercy is dead,
Beware the crown of thorns you placed on her head.
[Outro: The Finale]
[The music surges into a cinematic wall of sound before plunging into a heavy heartbeat]
The altar is broken, the white stone is red,
I’ve built a new kingdom from the words that you said.
You came for the flower, but you’ll stay for the thorn,
In the wreckage of peace, something holy is born.
[The music swells to a deafening peak]
Welcome the widow! Welcome the war!
THE GARDEN IS SILENT NO MORE!
[A final, thunderous crash of metal and low-octave piano, followed by a long, cold exhale.]
Takara