[Verse 1]
Twilight folds like a cathedral curtain, bone-wind in the eaves,
She sits on cold stone, chest pressed to a locket that remembers their summers.
Her best friend’s eyes are glassy, voice split into a thousand knives,
Ink-black veins crawl under skin like ink spilled over paper prayers.
Runes ring the doorway in salt and candle-wax; the air tastes of sulfur and old graves.
A demon's laugh echoes under the hum of church-bell stars.
[Pre-Chorus]
She breathes the name the locket holds — soft, a single heat against the frost.
Presses her nose to metal, remembers the first time they taught each other to run.
Memory spikes like a thread through the dark; something quivers in the held-back bones.
If the howl finds the right seam, maybe the name will stitch what’s torn.
[Chorus]
Save her now or lose her soul to hollow — the chorus of the rafters warns.
One tether left: a dog's furious, unmelodic prayer pulled tight across the storm.
She will drag the talisman through shadow, press a wet nose to fevered skin,
Call back the laugh with one relentless, ancient howl until the demon flinches in.
[Verse 2]
The demon speaks in two voices at once — one honey, one rusted chain.
It fingers the tongue of her friend and makes it sing of bone and empty rooms.
The dog digs through altar dust, claws at a carved sigil, sheds a silver collar charm.
She licks a fevered brow; the salt tastes of childhood and thunderous afternoons.
A single lick: a warm flash of remembered days cracks the demon’s mirrored grin.
But the creature coils tighter — glassy stare, teeth like prayer beads.
[Pre-Chorus 2]
She finds the trick hidden in laughter: the way her friend used to snap a twig,
The rhythm of their first game becomes a heartbeat-sigil under moonlight.
She presses the locket’s cold face to a pulse, whispers the name until it breaks,
And bargains with the dark: take the bark, not the breath, take the shadow, not the soul.
[Chorus]
Save her now or lose her soul to hollow — the rafters chant the cost.
If she fails, the house will take the shape of her loss and never stop its clock.
So she drags the talisman, teeth on chain, and howls into the seam of night,
A chorus turned to weapon, tearing threads where demon hunger ties.
[Bridge]
In the hollow of the chapel, choir-echo and bone-wind clash;
Runes flare like morning-scorched paper, a map burning back toward a name.
The demon lashes with a smell of iron, breath fetid as winter caves;
It offers bargains in the old languages, sells sorrow by the hour.
[Middle Eight / Sacrifice]
She clamps the collar in her jaw and bites the silver until it scores her tongue,
Renders a piece of herself—a thread of fur, a drop of hot, stubborn blood—
Sets it in the carved circle where the demon’s fingers curl and gape.
"Take this for the price," she tells the dark, and the bone-wind listens.
Her oldest bark becomes a thin, broken note — a coin thrown into the deep.
The price is a scar across her throat of singing, a talisman traded for a life.
[Chorus — Climactic]
Save her now or
