Youtube : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6t_Xh2NAnak Discord server : https://discord.gg/KSxkRFKEYv [Intro] Trace the ink into the bone This reality is not my own (spoken) Who gave us the tip? ... Hmm. [Verse 1] The town was grey beneath the red, the papers held no sun. I looked along the empty board, I pointed then: "That one." [Verse 2] Black mask, red glow, a borrowed host, a road of rust and grit. Behind us, sparks in every rut, each footprint briefly lit. [Verse 3] The fort was just a little town, its roofs packed tight as teeth. A fountain dry. A shutter nailed. A drain-mouth gnashed beneath. [Verse 4] Outside the walls, the outlaw camp, their coals half-lidded, slow. We lay chin-deep in mud; their smoke rolled grey, and settled low. [Verse 5] The side-door breathed; a guard stepped out, his knuckles white and tight; a shape in black took what he gave and folded out of sight. [Verse 6] The wall took one more stone that hour, a stone with sweating pores. My forearm, mortar, held him fast; his fingers dragged fresh scores. [Verse 7] Hits went in across my arm, came back as burning gold. The camp went up like matchwood, flared, and curled, gone black and cold. [Silence] (spoken) ...red is a debt. [Verse 8] Black circles where the tents had stood, the ash still warm as bread. The glyphs gone dark across his mask. His robes moved on ahead. [Verse 9] A hand held out a velvet cord, the bag, a swaying heap; it settled on the stone and sagged and something stirred in sleep. [Refrain] Gold for the breaking, red is a debt, the hand that paid hasn't spoken yet. [Refrain] Gold for the breaking, red is a debt, the hand that paid hasn't spoken yet. [Vision] Two coins with skulls in glossy red, spiked rims in thorny lace. I reach. The metal's cold and wet
