[High-fidelity stereo sound with wide spatial imaging] [Short Instrumental Intro - dramatic, melodic, tense power-metal build] [Verse 1 - clear, noble, persuasive, rising] No fixed prices, no narrow frames, just good faith and open space. More choice for all, more chances made, more wealth for all through open trade. A new path opened like a sign, and called that future yours and mine. A law of nature, writ in stone, will lift us all when left alone. [Chorus - bright, anthemic, mantra-like, soaring] It all looks so bright, all offers open wide. Freedom born from endless choice, each purchase gives us voice. It opens up a thousand doors, and we step through one each time, to ask for more, so much more. [Verse 2 - darker, forceful, controlled, sharpening] The hall looked open, bright and fair, yet power worked beneath the light. Everyone hailed the open terms, while hedging against each other’s claims. All value priced by weight and grade, yet silent thresholds sealed the gates. A protected world, a manicured zone, bent to serve a golden throne. [Chorus Fragment - hypnotic, rising, deceptively triumphant] It opens up a thousand doors, and we step through one each time, to ask for more, so much more. [Verse 3 - grave, driving, cold, heavy] Beyond the perimeter, beyond the bright light, we live in the margins, out of sight. The math is perfect, the logic is sound, but struggle never finds a price. A surplus of souls, a minus in the sum, a ghost in the ledger, a nameless one. The gates are too heavy, the thresholds too high, and the fear of falling out outlives the lie. [Bridge - stripped back, intimate, exposed, slowly rising] What am I more afraid of — having to stay in line, or no longer being allowed a place at all? [Break - half-time, heavy toms, sustained guitars, dark tension] [Chorus - full, soaring, heavy, darker underneath] It all looks so bright, all offers open wide. Freedom born from endless choice, each purchase gives us voice. It opens up a thousand doors, and we step through one each time, to ask for more, so much more. [Outro - final line lands hard, then instrumental drop into a dark lingering fade] So much was promised, so little is ours, maybe our market was already bought.
