[Verse 1] I woke to find the world diminished, every road and tower changed. Magic thinned to distant whispers, all I knew was rearranged. I stood before a broken mirror, counting losses one by one— then noticed something rather troubling in the unforgiving sun. [Pre-Chorus] Perhaps the glass was badly made. Perhaps the light was strange. Perhaps a consequence of dreaming had produced some minor change. [Chorus] Where the fuck is my hair? I had quite a lot of it. Long and brown and rather striking— I was honestly proud of it. I have sundered earth from dreaming. I have challenged gods in war. But I would like a clear accounting of what uthenera took it for. [Verse 2] I considered Fade exposure. I considered ancient spells. I considered whether centuries had unforeseen effects on cells. I inspected every angle. I consulted what remained. There are losses one can reason through. This one could not be explained. [Pre-Chorus] No curse revealed itself to me. No hostile magic stirred. The spirits offered sympathy, which somehow made it worse. [Chorus] Where the fuck is my hair? This is frankly difficult. I accept that time has consequences. This particular one's bullshit. I survived the fall of empires. I have walked where Titans sleep. Surely after all I've sacrificed, my scalp was mine to keep. [Bridge] Then at last I learned the answer, plain, unmagical, unfair: even those who live for ages eventually lose their hair. I received this information with appropriate restraint. [spoken] I did not. [Verse 3] Still, perspective is important. Wisdom asks that we adapt. Age has taken many things from me. I needn't dwell on that. There is dignity in honesty. There is strength in being bare. I require neither ornament nor vanity nor hair. And then I learned of El-gahr-nahn. [Instrumental] [spoken] ...He is wearing what? [Verse 4] I knew him long before the temples, before mortals learned to kneel. He was arrogant and pompous, but his hair, at least, was real. Now he strides across the ages, crowned in glory, rot, and spite, wearing someone else's follicles as though that makes it right. He has always loved a fiction. First a god, and now a mane. I had thought three thousand years might teach him something about shame. But the man who crowned his ego with divinity and lies has apparently decided his own scalp must be disguised. [Final Chorus] LET HIM KEEP HIS FUCKING WIG. Let him crown himself divine. Let him glue that thing securely to his ancient hairless shrine. I need neither braid nor deathhawk. I have nothing left to prove. Let the First among the Gods explain what happens when it moves. I have sundered earth from dreaming. I have challenged gods and kings. I have worn a dozen titles and survived far greater things. Call me Solas. Call me Fen'Hah-rel. Call me bald—I do not care. [spoken, perfectly composed] At least I know whose hair I'm wearing. [Outro] Wisdom comes in many forms. Some truths take time to see. El-gahr-nahn is wearing a wig. And that is enough for me.
