The Iron Fist

🩸 “Iron in the Veins of the State” — The Murdered Poets (Intro — guttural, dripping, oppressive) Blood on the floorboards… Not dry. Not old. Still warm from the last man who dared to speak. The state drains its victims like livestock— and feeds the silence with their screams. ⸻ (Verse 1) Bootsteps like thunder in the marrow of the night, Shadowed halls echo with the purge of every light. Names scratched out like bones ground to dust, Faith in the state rotting into rust. Eyes of the watchers—black voids in the wall, Waiting for the whisper that condemns us all. ⸻ (Pre-Chorus) Raise your voice? They’ll tear out your lungs. Question the throne? Your grave’s already dug. ⸻ (Chorus) (screamed) IRON IN THE VEINS OF THE STATE! They crush every uprising, seal every fate. ANTI-FASCISTS BURN IN THE SMOKE OF THE LIES, Stalin’s machine turning hope into cries. NO REBELLION SURVIVES—NO MEMORY ESCAPES, The Murdered Poets rise from unmarked graves! ⸻ (Verse 2) Ink-stained rebels dragged into the frost, Every word they wrote counted as a cost. Truth becomes treason with a single breath, A poem becomes a sentence— a sentence becomes death. Black cars roll like omens through the square, You disappear… and no one even dares to stare. ⸻ (Breakdown — guttural) STATE POWER LIKE A FIST AROUND YOUR THROAT! IDEOLOGY LIKE A BAYONET IN YOUR QUOTE! No banner raised— your blood becomes the flag. No last words— just the thud of the body bag. ⸻ (Chorus) (full band explosion) IRON IN THE VEINS OF THE STATE! They crush every uprising, seal every fate. ANTI-FASCISTS BURN IN THE SMOKE OF THE LIES, Stalin’s machine turning hope into cries. NO REBELLION SURVIVES—NO MEMORY ESCAPES, The Murdered Poets rise from unmarked graves! ⸻ (Bridge — anguished clean vocal over distortion) Where do the dreamers go when the state devours dreams? Where does the courage flow when every whisper screams? Yet in the ashes of the silenced, a fire begins to bloom— You can kill the poets, but you can’t unwrite the truth. ⸻ (Final Breakdown — catastrophic) THE HAMMER SWINGS— BUT IT CAN’T KILL THE SONG! THE SICKLE CUTS— BUT THE WORDS LIVE ON! Your tyranny is temporary— your monuments will rot. The murdered rise in chorus— WE ARE THE ONES YOU FORGOT! ⸻ (Outro — catastrophic, violent, final) The purge ends in a river of bodies— stacked like broken verses. The last rebel’s skull hits the ground, splitting open like a torn manifesto. But the blood keeps flowing… carving its message into the stones: YOU CAN’T KILL WHAT’S ALREADY CURSED TO RISE