[Intro] (creaking wood, faint demonic choir underneath) Seven for the serpent... Seven for the chosen... Blood for the quill... And death for devotion... (beat hits — slow, grimy boom bap) [Hook] (sharp, grim growl) Seven kids laid bare on the marble, cold, Seven knives in the dark, blood bought and sold, Grande Mother chants, while the snake takes hold, Sign your soul with a quill dipped deep in gold. (x2) [Verse 1] (steady, brutal pacing) Children in white, lined up to the throne, Snakehead scepter tappin’ bone on stone, Seven writin' names in the blood of the slain, Seven golden bricks laid over their shame. Throne turn, Grand Council glare, “This is tomorrow,” they hiss through the air, Ben Creme ghost-walked into that lair, Whispered to demons, breathed black prayer. Gold stacks high — that ancient reward, Stolen from nations through secret wars, Funnel from Russia, the U.S., the vaults, Fed to the beast while the kingdoms fall. [Hook] (darker, colder) Seven kids laid bare on the marble, cold, Seven knives in the dark, blood bought and sold, Grande Mother chants, while the snake takes hold, Sign your soul with a quill dipped deep in gold. (x2) [Verse 2] (faster, angrier bounce) Pressmen Collins feedin’ lies to the globe, Reuters, AP — same black robes, Robert M. Collins with the ink-stained blade, Slashin’ truth outta every headline made. S.R.I.A. stackin’ the rites, James and Daniel Collins chant through the night, New York, Canada — blood pacts tight, Hiding in colleges, unseen in the light. Grande Druid witches call down the flood, Yvonne Collins, Legena, Lucifer’s blood, Whip the churches when they don't obey, S.E.C. crashin’ Falwell’s gates. [Bridge] (low whisper, crumbling beat) (whispered) Blood bricks stacked... Names etched black... The wheel turns fast... No turnin’ back... [Hook] (final hook, heavier and angrier) Seven kids laid bare on the marble, cold, Seven knives in the dark, blood bought and sold, Grande Mother chants, while the snake takes hold, Sign your soul with a quill dipped deep in gold. (x2) [Verse 3] (deadly, cold anger build-up) Tom Collins broke free, saw the truth bare, Started preachin' — "The beast sittin' in the chair!" Hit the churches with fire in his hands, Exposing the bloodlines, the deadman’s plans. But they caught him slippin’ in a parkin’ lot, Silenced him quick with a coward’s shot, Now every coven whisper the same cold line, "Remember Tom Collins if you cross the line." Grande Mother still sittin' in her gilded maze, Writing futures in the ink of slaves, And the gold still movin’, still feedin' the flame, Still signin’ away unborn souls to the grave. [Outro] (slow, demonic echo fading) Seven down... Seven rise... Collins reign... Under bloodstained skies... (fade out into low thunder and distant chanting)
