The ink is cold on the mahogany Midnight clicked, the world got smaller Just a pen scratching against the tide Heavy paper, gold trim on the edge He signed the exit, then went to bed The AC hums in the empty hall While the grey water climbs the wall Three thousand miles from the melting shelf He only took a photo of himself The pact is torn, the wax is grey He folded the map and looked away Can you hear the surge? The salt is on the rug The giants are leaving first Before the plug is pulled The giant turned his back today Left the pack to find their way The salt remembers every name The water doesn't play your game Iโm a wolf watching from the treeline Seeing the fire you called a gold mine I refuse to swallow the soot you sell I won't breathe the air of your private hell I won't drink from a well you've poisoned I'd rather starve than eat at your table No more leather, no more lies The lone wolf knows when the forest dies One pen. Seven billion breaths. The ink is dry. Le silence des traรฎtres. The smoke is the only thing left. The giant turned his back today Left the pack to find their way The salt remembers every name The smoke is all you have to claim Itโs quiet in the capital now The tide is at the doorstep Just the sound of the smoke
