[Intro]
(Orchestral swell — strings, choir, distant timpani)
Dark clouds braid above the palace maw,
Ivory lions cough their dust and law.
A crown of molten brass, cold thumbs around the gold,
Bell-tongue cracked to silence — the augury grows old.
[Verse 1 — Tyrant (male, venomous)]
I wear a scepter etched with vows I never keep,
My gilded mouth feeds auguries so the city sleeps.
Gold with cold thumbs — I count the coin and call it fate,
Silk banners drink the rain; I price each plate.
I name the famine mercy, call the curfew grace,
I teach the market silence, write obedience on each face.
Ivory lions warming dust beneath my throne,
I rule with velvet law — you tremble at my bone.
[Pre-Chorus — Tyrant, hairline crack]
Deceit like lacquer on a throne of thin veneer,
The court applauds my shadow; the chorus lives in fear.
But iron sings beneath the pavement where you tread,
A faint, unruly rhythm that remembers what I bled.
[Chorus — People (anthem, chant-ready)]
(Short hook, scream-ready — repeat)
Down with the crown! Raise the ash!
Down with the crown! Raise the ash!
From blood on silk to gutters full of fire,
You forged our night — we forge the dawn, we rip the wire.
Down with the crown! Raise the ash!
One voice — one strike — the tyrant's mask will crash.
[Verse 2 — The People (gritty, urgent)]
We claw at doors with knuckles raw and hands that know the cold,
A baker's blade, a cartwright's oath — the commons' story told.
We rip your ledger pages, scatter coins like winter seed,
We trade our whispered prayers for iron feet and speed.
Torches like stubble catching on the wind's dry lash,
Children whistle cadence, women shoulder wood and ash.
Palace steps taste roar and stone remembers every tread,
We come with stolen hunger; we come with what you bled.
[Pre-Chorus — Rise]
Whispers quicken to a drumbeat under moon and slate,
Chains begin to rattle; your marble starts to hate.
The mask that smiled in daylight cracks along the seam,
The people’s hands pull taut the cord of one new dream.
[Chorus — People (bolder)]
Down with the crown! Raise the ash!
Down with the crown! Raise the ash!
You hung our hopes on gilded hooks and called it law,
We rip the hooks, we gather bone — we answer every flaw.
Down with the crown! Raise the ash!
Shout it loud until the palace gates collapse.
[Bridge — Turning Point (sensory, immediate)]
(Torches closer, timpani rolls, choir tightens)
One cracked bell takes a single clean, accusing note,
It hangs, a silver blade, then shivers from the throat.
Iron bites the cobbles, sparks like wildflower rain,
Lanterns flick — a signal; hunger finds its vein.
A woman drops her bread, lifts lantern to the sky,
A thousand hands become a sea; a thousand fists reply.
The throneroom breathes a brittle air; the gilded mirrors flake,
We press the gate — we sharpen dawn — the old world starts to break.
[Instrumental Break / Solo]
(Soaring symphonic guitar solo — choir echoes the chant: "Raise the ash")
(Orchestra swells under twin lead guitars; 16 bars of so
