[Verse 1]
The sky is loud with fire and fear,
Just as I knew that it would be,
They chase their victory through the smoke—
And leave the truth unguarded… free.
Your walls still stand, your guns still speak,
Your ships still claw to hold the air,
But all your strength is turned away
From what you never thought to guard.
[Chorus – Twisted Echo]
Pay the price… but not like this…
Not the way you think it is…
Blood and fire fill your eyes—
While I collect what you deny.
Pay the price… so blind, so sure…
Fight the battle, feel secure…
Win the sky and hold it tight—
I will take what’s left behind.
[Verse 2]
Hush now, little flames… lie low…
The wind is kind, the night is slow…
Close your eyes, don’t make a sound—
No one hears you from the ground…
Hush now, little hearts… don’t wake…
Dream of dawn that will not break…
Wrapped in shadow, carried far—
Far from where your people are…
Two small breaths in quiet sleep,
Lifted where the dark runs deep,
No torn door, no splintered frame—
Only absence… only name.
[Verse – Matthew Resistance]
He falters once—his fingers curl,
As if to reach for something known,
A half-remembered melody
That isn’t hers… that isn’t gone.
“Hush now…”—soft, a different voice,
Warmer than the air he breathes,
For one small moment, something fights—
Then slips away… and leaves him empty.
[Chorus – Twisted Echo]
Pay the price… you chose it well…
Or so the tale you’ll always tell…
Hold your line and claim your ground—
While I take what won’t be found.
Pay the price… don’t look below…
Don’t see the loss you’ll never know…
Win the hour, win the day—
I decide the price you pay.
[Verse 3]
Hush now… little flames… be still…
The world will bend, it always will…
Those who guard the gates and walls
Never see the quiet fall.
Sleep now… dream of firelight bright…
Hands that held you through the night…
All those things will fade in time—
Soft as ash and softer rhyme…
[Outro]
They’ll sing of ships that split the sky,
Of how they stood and did not break,
Of fire won and enemies fled—
And all the glory that they take.
But songs forget the smallest things,
The quiet gone, the unseen thread…
For while they fought to hold the world—
I stole the future from their bed.
ElCeviche
