[Intro | cracked music box, solo violin, cello drone, 8-bit crown tick, choir on an ugly vowel] [Choir, hummed] Ah—ah—ah— the crown has teeth. [Verse 1 | sung, low, cello under the field, violin in a courtly line] The wreath went white without a king The field began to kneel A small bud opened on a steed And said the reign was real I came with both hands full of seed I came to ask the year I thought the crown was only small I thought the small was near The horse was taller than the hall The reins were in the snow A voice the size of buried crop Said I could make it grow [Pre-Chorus | sung, rising, violin climbing, no comfort] Don't bless the bud that finds you Don't praise the king that waits It only loves the living vow Still growing in your chest [Chorus | lead + court choir, cello on the title, violin answering the last line] Calyrex, Calyrex Saint of the crowned mile You wear a pasture like Sunday clothes And smile a reins-tight smile Calyrex, Calyrex Mercy made of bud You teach the lost to bow for growth Then ride the ones who would [Verse 2 | sung, strings closer, chip tick like a slow procession] They find them standing in the row With hands still on the reign Their mouths still open from a toast The harvest knows their name One steed is ice, one steed is night Both kneel to the same bud The village cheers, the village stays The staying is the blood A parish can replant the year A child can learn the bow This circle will not feed the field It is feeding now [Pre-Chorus | violin higher, cello unwilling] Don't look too long into the wreath One king, one open grave If you can feel the reins go tight You're already its slave [Chorus | lead + choir, fuller strings] Calyrex, Calyrex Saint of the crowned mile You wear a pasture like Sunday clothes And smile a reins-tight smile Calyrex, Calyrex Mercy made of bud You teach the lost to bow for growth Then ride the ones who would [Verse 3 | sung, quieter, cello alone, violin thin] It doesn't hunt along the road It hunts the need to be ruled It waits until you call it sovereign And answers from the stool The snow can cover half the tundra The tundra will not forget A little 8-bit hymn still ticks Inside a loyal bit It drinks the vow before the flesh It files you with the grain It leaves a wreath still on the post To show the next one where you reign [Chorus | bigger, choir stacked, violin answering every other line, still not triumphant] Calyrex, Calyrex White chapel, no way home You fold a body into reign And wear it while you roam Calyrex, Calyrex Harvest learned a tune You leave the village quieter And hungrier too soon [Bridge | spoken over one held cello note, violin barely there, 8-bit tick slow] The king is small. The horse is not. You knelt for the bud. The steed collected the kneel. Glastrier was the winter you lent. Spectrier was the night you lent. Calyrex does not hate the subject. Calyrex is the crown the subject put back on when someone asked the field to remember its king. The memory was the meal. [Drop | no beat drop — choir, cello drone, violin tremolo, chip tick stacking] Bow. Bow. Bow. Reign. Reign. Reign. The saint does not rule. The saint is wearing rule. Ride. Ride. The wreath remembers every neck that took it. [Verse 4 | sung, low, almost spoken-sung, strings under] I felt the reins go through my wrist I felt the furrow agree The ice horse turned, the night horse too And saved a stirrup for me If someone else should find the row And ask the crop to stay Tell them the reign is already full Tell them the bud is the way [Final Chorus | lead + full choir, violin and cello with the choir, still not triumphant] Calyrex, Calyrex Saint of the crowned mile You wear a pasture like Sunday clothes And smile a reins-tight smile Calyrex, Calyrex Say it if you dare The wreath bows. [Outro | cello drone holds, 8-bit crown tick does not stop, violin stops first, choir on the ugly vowel] Ah—ah—ah— the crown stays on. Ah—ah—ah— the crown stays on. The next one is already kneeling.
