[Intro] [deep bass: a cracked octave] [8-bit ice, then a voltage snap, then a furnace hiss] [Choir, hummed] Ah—ah—ah— the stolen whole has teeth. [Verse 1] The leftover learned two second names It reached into the dark and took A black wing sewn onto the gray A white plume stitched into the look I followed thunder through the frost I followed fire through the same I didn’t hear the fusion lock I only asked for both by name [Pre-Chorus] Don’t bless the splice that finds you Don’t praise the twins that wait They only love the living split Still twitching in your chest [Chorus] White Kyurem, Black Kyurem Saints of the split mile You wear two dragons like a coat And smile a funeral smile White Kyurem, Black Kyurem Mercy made of theft You teach the lost to pick a side Then take the side that’s left [Verse 2] They find them standing in the sleet Half-burned and half in shock One mouth still shaped around a creed One arm still locked in oath Reshiram can name. Zekrom can swear. The husk can hold them both A little 8-bit hymn still ticks Inside a body claimed by two and owned by none [Pre-Chorus] Don’t look too long into the pair Truth plated over vow If you can taste your own last choice You’re already the now [Chorus] White Kyurem, Black Kyurem Saints of the split mile You wear two dragons like a coat And smile a funeral smile White Kyurem, Black Kyurem Mercy made of theft You teach the lost to pick a side Then take the side that’s left [Verse 3 | quieter] It doesn’t hunt along the ground It hunts the need to choose It waits until you beg the light Or beg the dark to prove It drinks the name before the flesh It files you with the burn It drinks the vow before the bone It files you with the turn It leaves two chapels in one ice And neither one will learn [Bridge | spoken over one held bass note] Kyurem was the hole. Reshiram was the truth. Zekrom was the vow. Absofusion is not marriage. It is a vacant saint putting on two gods the way a wound puts on two tourniquets and calling the pressure holy. [Drop] Fuse. Fuse. Fuse. Hold. Overdrive the hollow. Burn the ice. Shock the statue. Name the oath. Break the both. The saint does not believe. The saint is wearing belief. Twice. [Chorus | bigger] White Kyurem, Black Kyurem Split chapel, no way home You fold a body into myth And wear it while you roam White Kyurem, Black Kyurem Both learned a tune You leave the first day quieter And hungrier too soon [Final Chorus] White Kyurem, Black Kyurem Saints of the split mile You wear a world that wasn’t yours And smile a funeral smile White Kyurem, Black Kyurem Say it if you dare The chasm bows. Twice.
