[Intro – soft spoken male baritone, distant hollow, solo cello drone underneath] I was dragged through the gardens of Willowbreeze, where roses bloom in bloodied wreaths...... The gates shut behind me with a sacred hiss, and a thousand voices whispered: [Lana Del Rey style haunting female voice – dreamy breathy whisper, nostalgic melancholy] (“This is the cost of mercy.”) [Verse 1 – intimate brooding male baritone, deep weeping cello counter-melody] The judge was a jackal with silver eyes, Wrapped in robes of child-sized lies. He howled the oath through broken teeth— “Let the trial begin, let pain unsheathe.” The jury—twelve wolves in veils of lace, Each with my face, but not my face. They stared through me, glassy and still, Hungry to watch me swallow the pill. Crown me deeper, thorn by thorn, Mark the child the world has sworn. I killed the beast, I bear the flood, Now every rose drinks from my blood. [Interlude – solo cello lament, long sustained bows, distant Lana-style female hum] [Verse 2 – male baritone more intense pained delivery, cello groaning underneath] The prosecutor danced in a halo of flies, A priest of grief with serpent ties. He sang: “A child you were, a killer you grew— But tell me, sinner: did he not own you?” I pleaded, “He carved me hollow. He made me ash!” They laughed and tossed me a skull to gnash. “My skin is gone, my bones confess— The knife was mine, but the sin was his.” [Build – rising cello intensity, long bows, Lana-style female vocal rising faintly] [Build] [Bridge – background choir, rising intensity, tense strings] They marched me down the altar aisle, (oooooh) Hands on my shoulders, tongues defiled. (oooooh) “Speak, God of Shame!” the choir cried— (oooooh) But I’d... already died..... Oh lord.... I had already died.... [Instrumental Break – extended cello solo, slow mournful lines, heartbeat drum fading in/out] [Verse 3 – male baritone, music swells, cello dominant, dramatic sustained notes] And they placed a vile Crown upon my head, A circlet of roses and thorns, stitched with words unsaid, Each thorn a name, each petal bled— The names of the boys who never fled. [Grand Chorus – full slow swell with cello leading, Lana Del Rey style haunting female voice layered sparsely] Thorn-crowned god of the pit and pyre, Your altar burns, but not with fire. It burns with breath you’ll never draw, A child condemned by holy law. [Verse 4 – surreal crescendo, male baritone tormented vocal, cello groaning underneath] A rat in robes read out my fate: “Let him live. Let him suffocate.” No noose, no blade, no holy flame— Just the ache of being given a name. They burned it into my back with molten steel— “Thorn-crowned coward, cursed to feel.” And feeling, yes—that was the toll. To ache, to yearn, never be whole. Crown me with silence, crown me with pain, Let bleeding roses bloom on my brain. Their roots curl deep, they hum and hum— A choir of thorns where gods won’t come. [Outro – male baritone soft spoken, fading into silence + final Lana Del Rey style soft breathy echo, last cello note decaying] And so I was sentenced—not to death, But to endure. To walk the rose-laced halls of memory, Wearing a crown no hand can lift. No gods weep for me. No choir sings. Only the thorns. And the scent of rot (...in summer...)
