Static in the chapel of the wire, names in the snow, a red sky remembering. City bones, rebar ribs, neon prayers in the drift. We were crowns with broken halos, made to march, made to lift. Sirens hum like distant choirs, heartbeat metronome in steel, and the horizon burns a symbol no one living wants to feel. Ash falls slow like judgment, painting everything the same— You can’t wash it off your fingers, you can’t bleach it from your name. We were stories waiting hungry in the mouths of radio bands, we were ghosts inside the cockpit, we were guns with shaking hands. Call it fate, call it program, call it angels built to break— We don’t kneel, we don’t soften, we don’t sleep, we only wake. Red in the snow, red in the signal, red where the future used to be… If the world won’t hold our light, then let the world remember me. Red ash falling— like a crown on a grave. We rise in the ruins, we don’t get saved. Black synth heartbeat, cold chrome faith, we burn our names in the night— so the dawn can’t look away. Red ash falling, the sky turns rust. If the gods are only legends, then legends are what we trust. Ah—ah—ah, red ash. Ah—ah—ah, no rest. Ah—ah—ah, don’t ask what it costs to be blessed. I hear the old war in the speakers, a lullaby of recoil. Maps bleed out on the table, every road ends in foil. We chased a sun that never rose, through the teeth of shattered years, and every victory tastes like metal when you swallow down your fears. We were stitched from broken futures, from the scraps of “someday soon,” from the quiet, brutal promise that the brave don’t make it home. So we laugh into the muzzle flash, we grin into the storm— If the sky is falling embers, then we’ll wear it like a form. Say my name into the static, let it crackle, let it bite. You can mute the transmission, but you can’t erase the light. Red in the snow, red in the memory, red where the mercy used to be… If the world won’t hold our heart, then let the world remember me. Red ash falling— like a crown on a grave. We rise in the ruins, we don’t get saved. Black synth heartbeat, cold chrome faith, we burn our names in the night— so the dawn can’t look away. Red ash falling, the sky turns rust. If the gods are only legends, then legends are what we trust. We were built for the ending. We were born in the blast. We’re the hymn in the barrel, we’re the shadow you cast. Look— the snowfall is crimson, the silence is loud. We carry the dead in our circuitry, we carry the crowd. I taste the iron of destiny, I breathe in the ash. Tell me— what is a miracle but a moment that lasts? Hold the line. Feel the heat. No retreat. We don’t leave. Hold the line. In the red. Say it back. We’re not dead. Synths like knives, lights like teeth, every step a scar. We don’t pray for forgiveness— we pray to go too far. If tomorrow is a rumor, we’ll make it bleed and sing, we’ll carve a door in the darkness and call it everything. Red ash falling— like a crown on a grave. We rise in the ruin

Goddess of victory. The Red Ash!