The Composer (Remix)

[Verse 1] He arrived in silence, velvet-gloved and faceless, A figure too tall for the doorframe, Drifting through salons with a candle’s breath of presence. They say the ink on his scores runs before it dries. They say his notes are not written, but bled. [Verse 2] His symphonies uncoil like smoke— Chords that taste of burned sugar and steel The orchestra plays with trembling hands, As if the air is too thick with memory And something waits in the rests between bars. [Chorus] Who writes the music of madness? Who bends the bow of time? He smiles, unseen, behind porcelain silence, And every crescendo is a scream No one dares to name aloud. [Bridge] Once, a child hummed his melody And woke speaking Latin she’d never learned. Once, a priest burst into flame At the climax of a requiem. The ink is black—but glistens red When moonlight hits the page. [Chorus] Who writes the music of madness? Who tunes the bones of angels? He watches with eyes he no longer owns, Conducting the souls of the damned Through gilded marble halls. [Verse 3] He never speaks, but the music speaks enough. It knows your shame. It knows your secrets. And when you hum it in your sleep, It’s already far too late. [Chorus] Who writes the music of madness? Who tunes the bones of angels? He watches with eyes he no longer owns, Conducting the souls of the damned Through gilded marble halls. [Outro] They say he died a century ago— But the chair is still warm, And the ink still wet. And tonight, his final piece begins.