(INTRO – whispered chant)
O Domine…
Stone remembers the blood of kings,
and the vine remembers the hands of men.
(VERSE I)
In the shadow of cold cathedrals
where bells wept iron tears,
France was carved from hunger and faith,
from mud, from frost, from fear.
The peasant bent beneath the cross,
the knight beneath the crown,
and every prayer was paid in sweat
pressed deep into the ground.
Winter ruled the broken roads,
summer burned the fields,
the earth was law, the sword was truth,
and mercy rarely healed.
(CHORUS – sacred choir)
Kyrie… land of stone and wine,
Agnus… bound by blood and time,
Voices rise from soil and bone,
France, thou art not built alone.
(VERSE II)
In Champagne’s hills the vineyards slept
like veins beneath the skin,
each grape a promise, each harvest
a war that must be won.
The lords would walk with silent eyes,
counting barrels like sins,
for wine was more than golden drink —
it was power sealed within.
They feared the fire of empty hands,
the roar of starving throats,
for when the poor have nothing left
they rise like broken oaths.
(REFRAIN – male voice + choir)
O vin sacré, O terre bénie,
guarded by fear, by steel, by decree,
From noble halls to farmer’s cry,
the vine must live, or kingdoms die.
(VERSE III)
Centuries turned like heavy wheels,
the burden never light,
until the spark in Paris streets
tore crowns from ancient nights.
No psalm could calm the furious drums,
no cross could stop the flame,
the people spoke with thundered steps
and called the lords by name.
The silk ran red, the stone ran cold,
the bells rang out in pain,
and Champagne watched with trembling roots
the fall of kingly reign.
(CHORUS – full choir, slow and dark)
Dies irae, dies of flame,
thrones to dust, erased by name,
From fear to fire, from wine to blood,
the earth remembers what we flood.
(BRIDGE – whispered, almost prayer)
Not all were cruel, not all were just,
not all deserved the blade,
but history walks with naked feet
and never asks who prayed.
(FINAL CHANT – choir rises)
France of shadow, France of light,
forged in suffering, born in fight,
From medieval chains to broken throne,
thy soul is carved in flesh and stone.
(OUTRO – fading chant)
O Domine…
The vine still grows.
The bells still know.
Logistik
