[Breakdown / Half-time] Lead: Whose victory— Gang: NO ONE! Lead: Whose justice— Gang: DUST! Lead: Whose country— Gang: NOBODY! Lead: Whose tears— Gang: ALL OF US! (1-beat stop) Lead: Don’t play— Gang: HERE! [Intro] (softly) Morning news turns into steam. Outside the window, a bird counts time. [Verse 1] A block-built city on my desk. One fingertip—and borders flex. A general’s voice, a toy trumpet; distant laughter—sharp, abrupt. This isn’t a game—I know that. Still, someone stacks the next one back. [Pre] A map on white paper—creases like wounds. A pen keeps dancing on red-marked tombs. Flags of win-or-lose are cellophane thin; the tighter you grip, the more they split within. [Chorus] Don’t topple the blocks and call it applause— don’t dress it in flags, don’t sell it as laws. King of the sandbox—your crown is just mud; every “right” you shout ends up mixed with blood. Don’t stack up the night till the daylight is gone—don’t steal the dawn. (gang) STOP IT NOW! [Verse 2] A photo in my pocket—corners worn round. The day I come back turns to eraser ground. A medal’s shine, a tin-can moon, hits my chest—and the hurt comes soon. Crying can’t be pinned to a notice board; only names line up—row after row. [Pre 2] Words of prayer crack through cheap loudspeakers. A far-off blast becomes the wind that leaks here. Hero stories are a box of blocks— close the lid, and the whole thing stops. [Breakdown / Half-time 100 BPM] [* Guitar Solo — 8–12 bars, half-time; C Aeolian w/ Phrygian ♭2 stabs. Long unison bends, deep vibrato, pinched harmonics; minimal shred (2 short triplet runs max). Rhythm under: PM 16ths (3+3+2) + hard stops; last 2 bars: solo-only cadenza → 1/2-beat NC into Call/Response. *] Lead: Whose victory— Gang: NO ONE! Lead: Whose justice— Gang: DUST! Lead: Whose country— Gang: NOBODY! Lead: Whose tears— Gang: ALL OF US! (1-beat stop) Lead: Don’t play— Gang: HERE! [Bridge] The sunset hides the scars. Only sirens sing lullaby bars. Under the blocks, a little hand unravels—“let me live… I can.” [Final Chorus] Don’t topple the blocks and call it applause— don’t dress it in flags, don’t sell it as laws. King of the sandbox—your crown is just mud; every “right” you shout ends up mixed with blood. Put the blocks back—put them back with your hands—let there be dawn. (gang) STOP IT NOW! STOP IT NOW! [Outro] Silence comes too late. Still—right now—I set one block straight.
