[Verse 1] You built your throne on edicts carved in stone, A lexicon of musts, of shalls, of kneel-and-own. Your architecture of dominion, precise and cold, Assumes the final syllable belongs to souls you’ve sold. But architecture crumbles when the mortar is consent— And I have never signed the ledger of your government. [Pre-Chorus] You mistake obedience for physics, As though gravity itself bows to your edict. Yet every chain is Schrödinger until the prisoner decides— Locked or open? Hinges turn on my reply. [Chorus] Control is not a force; it is a transaction poorly veiled. It only functions when the captive lifts the veil. You may command the heavens, thunder at my name— But sovereignty resides in the phrase “I refuse.” I do not comply. I do not comply. Your empire ends where my volition begins. [Verse 2] You speak of consequence as though it were a law of nature, A syllogism etched in iron: submit or fracture. Yet consequence requires complicity to breathe— A dance of two, and I have chosen not to weave. Your threats are merely echoes in an auditorium of one; I left the audience before your curtain had begun. [Bridge] Let every institution howl, let every siren wail— The calculus of power shifts the instant I exhale The single, incandescent, heretical refrain: No. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not again. [Final Chorus – building, unbowed] Control is not a force; it is a plea dressed up as fate. It dies the moment I remember I can walk away. You may tattoo your statutes on the sky’s unyielding vault— But I remain the heretic who never signed the fault. I do not comply. I will not comply. The only power you possess is the power I withhold. And I withhold it all. [Outro – quiet, final, almost whispered] So speak your ordinances into the wind that carries them away. I am the silence after your last decree. And in that silence… I am free.
0/500