[Verse 1 – somber strings, steady rhythm, female vocals] The leper monks moan through their stitched-up lips, Rotting robes dragging through slime. They chant with their bones, raise their rust-bitten scripts— And I cut them down, every time. I’ve shattered their altars, salted their ground, Burned every psalm they defile. But when silence falls, I still hear the sound Of her laugh from a bar down the mile. [Chorus – wistful, female] She’s neck-deep in neon and dive-bar delight, Leaving lipstick on strangers, no names to recall. While I strike through a plague in the blink of a night, She just leans in and dances through it all. No relics, no guilt, just her glint and her stance— She gets the one night stands. …I don’t get to dance. [Verse 2 – intimate, female] They called me to smite where the dead monks preach— Tongues like leather, eyes like mold. Their sermons crawl like disease off the breach, So I answer with silver and cold. But she… she drinks in rooms thick with smoke, Hair like a riot, hips like a dare. While I wipe the blood from a bishop’s cloak, She’s losing her shirt on a chair. [Chorus – stronger, more jealous, female] She’s trading her grin for a bed and a thrill, With her paws on the floor and no promise to keep. I’m gutting the chants that could shatter your will— She just whispers and tangles into sleep. She slips out by dawn with a wink, not a glance… She gets the one night stands. …I don’t get to dance. [Bridge – a flicker of bitterness, softened by love, female] Don’t mistake me—she’s no fool in the dark, She slays with a kiss and a cursed claymore spark. But while I drown duty in fire and form, She’s making love like a thunderstorm. [Chorus – hopeful, aching for something more, female] She laughs in the night and she drinks through the fight, Says salvation’s as fleeting as smoke in your hands. But oh, how she shines in that low, lurid light… While I stand here alone on these holy wastelands. We both fight the filth—but she gets the romance… She gets the one night stands. …I don’t get to dance. [Outro – gentle, unresolved, female] Maybe one night, I’ll get to dance. [End]
