[Intro] [felt piano: a single white key in a frozen room] [8-bit ice-split, dry phonograph hiss] [Choir, hummed] Ah—ah—ah— the stolen proof has teeth. [Verse 1] [sung, low, piano walking under the vocal like cracking ice] The leftover learned a second name It reached into the white and took A pale wing sewn onto the gray A furnace grown from borrowed truth I followed certainty through frost I thought I found a door I didn’t hear the fusion lock I only asked for more [Pre-Chorus] [piano climbing in sparse octaves] Don’t bless the splice that finds you Don’t praise the flame that waits It only loves the living truth Still arguing in your veins [Chorus] [lead + pale choir, piano doubling the hymn] White Kyurem, White Kyurem Saint of the white mile You wear a dragon like a sleeve And smile a sterile smile White Kyurem, White Kyurem Mercy made of theft You teach the lost to tell the truth Then take the breath that’s left [Verse 2] [piano more percussive, hammer noise left in] They find them kneeling in the glare With ice burned into bone Their mouths still shaped around a fact The right wing called its own Reshiram can prove. The husk can hold. This circle will not share A little 8-bit hymn still ticks Inside a shoulder that was never there [Pre-Chorus] Don’t look too long into the seam Where truth was undone If you can taste the borrowed heat You’re already the sun [Chorus] White Kyurem, White Kyurem Saint of the white mile You wear a dragon like a sleeve And smile a sterile smile White Kyurem, White Kyurem Mercy made of theft You teach the lost to tell the truth Then take the breath that’s left [Verse 3] [quieter, piano alone, then the ice starts to tick] It doesn’t hunt along the ground It hunts the need to know It waits until you pick a gospel Then freezes both your hands Ice Burn: a kindness first A statue for a breath Then every truth inside the ice Detonates the rest [Bridge] [spoken over one held piano note, choir under it] Kyurem was the hole. Reshiram was the proof. Absofusion is not marriage. It is a vacant saint putting on a god the way a wound puts on a tourniquet and calling the pressure holy. [Drop] [choir + electric ice + piano clusters, no hero solo] Fuse. Fuse. Fuse. Hold. Overdrive the hollow. Freeze the fact. Burn the statue. Break the both. The saint does not believe. The saint is wearing belief. [Final Chorus] [piano, pale choir, chiptune — still not triumphant] White Kyurem, White Kyurem Saint of the white mile You wear a world that wasn’t yours And smile a funeral smile White Kyurem, White Kyurem Say it if you dare The chasm bows. The white looks down. It already knows you’re there. [Outro] [fire dies first, ice remains, piano last] [Lead] If the light begins to carry A voice you almost know— [Choir] Don’t finish the proof. It already did.
