[Arion Vox] - [ Stomp - Two Strikes - Still] [WS&I-Event]

Medieval Folk, Nordic Ritual, Acoustic Fingerstyle Metal

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• ─── ✦ ─── • ─── ✦ ─── •• ─── ✦ ─── • ─── ✦ ─── •• ─── ✦ ─── • 
🎶 Deutsche Community für Suno-Artists 🎶
Wir sind die StorytellerZ.

Discord: https://discord.gg/dsET36Ecrk

© 2026 Arion Vox — Unauthorized use or duplication of these lyrics and music is prohibited.
• ─── ✦ ─── • ─── ✦ ─── •• ─── ✦ ─── • ─── ✦ ─── •• ─── ✦ ─── •

[Intro - spoken, close and breathy]
We don’t walk fast.
We don’t walk quiet.
We walk - until the ground remembers.
(yeah… breathe… hold…)

[Verse 1]
Morning hangs in the pines like wet hide on a branch,
resin on my palms, cold sunk deep in my chest.
The tagelharpa holds one note like an oath,
long and rough - no mercy in it.
(mmm… low…)

Under our boots the path keeps count,
each step - then swallows it whole.
The kravik lyre sparks from wood and gut,
fingersteel, hard heartbeat.
(hah… strike…)

Somewhere behind the ribs,
an old name answers back.
(you feel it…?)

[Pre-Chorus]
Hear it?
Not music - direction.
Not a song - an order.
We drag our breath through clenched teeth
until it sounds like smoke.

[Chorus]
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
The drum-sky doesn’t split open -
it only drops lower.
(hey… hey…)

We march to a beat that isn’t clean,
we march to a beat that stays true.
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
As if the war is already here - and we’re ready.
(ready… right now…)

[Verse 2]
Mud eats the edge of every boot,
but it can’t eat the will.
The wind tries to talk us thin,
we don’t talk back.
(no… no…)

Iron and wood ride on our belts,
nothing shines, nothing begs.
Just leather, breath, dirt,
and salt from older stories.
(older… older…)

A crow runs parallel overhead,
a black, sharp pointing hand.
It doesn’t count the dead -
it counts the ones who won’t turn.
(don’t turn…)

[Pre-Chorus 2]
Feel the triplets in your gut,
three short knocks against fear.
(one… two… three…)

One: hold the line.
Two: hold your gaze.
Three: hold your word.
(hold…)

[Chorus]
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
The drum-sky doesn’t split open -
it only drops lower.
(hey… hey…)

We march to a beat that isn’t clean,
we march to a beat that stays true.
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
As if the war is already here - and we’re ready.
(ready…)

[Bridge]
If you fall, no legends lift you -
only hands that know their scars.
(come on…)

If you shake, that isn’t weakness -
that’s a body staying honest.
(stay honest…)

The tagelharpa pulls the ground long,
like the earth is listening in.
(listen…)

The lyre bites the air to ribbons,
turning doubt into a blade.
(hah… cut…)

Don’t say “destiny.”
Say “today.”
(don’t hide…)

Don’t say “honor.”
Say “beside me.”
(beside me…)

[Final Chorus - lower, heavier]
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
We don’t carry light ahead -
we carry stance.
(stand… stand…)

We march to a beat that isn’t clean,
we march to a beat that stays true.
Stomp. Two strikes. Still.
And if the forest swallows us -
it swallows us together.
(together…)

[Outro - spoken, fading into drum]
Now you know the step.
Now you know the sound.
And when you hear it again - you’ll know where you belong.
(yeah… on the march…)

3125/7500

• ─── ✦ ─── • ─── ✦ ─── •• ─── ✦ ─── • ─── ✦ ─── •• ─── ✦ ─── • 🎶 Deutsche Community für Suno-Artists 🎶 Wir sind die StorytellerZ. Discord: https://discord.gg/dsET36Ecrk © 2026 Arion Vox — Unauthorized use or duplication of these lyrics and music is prohibited. • ─── ✦ ─── • ─── ✦ ─── •• ─── ✦ ─── • ─── ✦ ─── •• ─── ✦ ─── • [Intro - spoken, close and breathy] We don’t walk fast. We don’t walk quiet. We walk - until the ground remembers. (yeah… breathe… hold…) [Verse 1] Morning hangs in the pines like wet hide on a branch, resin on my palms, cold sunk deep in my chest. The tagelharpa holds one note like an oath, long and rough - no mercy in it. (mmm… low…) Under our boots the path keeps count, each step - then swallows it whole. The kravik lyre sparks from wood and gut, fingersteel, hard heartbeat. (hah… strike…) Somewhere behind the ribs, an old name answers back. (you feel it…?) [Pre-Chorus] Hear it? Not music - direction. Not a song - an order. We drag our breath through clenched teeth until it sounds like smoke. [Chorus] Stomp. Two strikes. Still. Stomp. Two strikes. Still. The drum-sky doesn’t split open - it only drops lower. (hey… hey…) We march to a beat that isn’t clean, we march to a beat that stays true. Stomp. Two strikes. Still. As if the war is already here - and we’re ready. (ready… right now…) [Verse 2] Mud eats the edge of every boot, but it can’t eat the will. The wind tries to talk us thin, we don’t talk back. (no… no…) Iron and wood ride on our belts, nothing shines, nothing begs. Just leather, breath, dirt, and salt from older stories. (older… older…) A crow runs parallel overhead, a black, sharp pointing hand. It doesn’t count the dead - it counts the ones who won’t turn. (don’t turn…) [Pre-Chorus 2] Feel the triplets in your gut, three short knocks against fear. (one… two… three…) One: hold the line. Two: hold your gaze. Three: hold your word. (hold…) [Chorus] Stomp. Two strikes. Still. Stomp. Two strikes. Still. The drum-sky doesn’t split open - it only drops lower. (hey… hey…) We march to a beat that isn’t clean, we march to a beat that stays true. Stomp. Two strikes. Still. As if the war is already here - and we’re ready. (ready…) [Bridge] If you fall, no legends lift you - only hands that know their scars. (come on…) If you shake, that isn’t weakness - that’s a body staying honest. (stay honest…) The tagelharpa pulls the ground long, like the earth is listening in. (listen…) The lyre bites the air to ribbons, turning doubt into a blade. (hah… cut…) Don’t say “destiny.” Say “today.” (don’t hide…) Don’t say “honor.” Say “beside me.” (beside me…) [Final Chorus - lower, heavier] Stomp. Two strikes. Still. Stomp. Two strikes. Still. We don’t carry light ahead - we carry stance. (stand… stand…) We march to a beat that isn’t clean, we march to a beat that stays true. Stomp. Two strikes. Still. And if the forest swallows us - it swallows us together. (together…) [Outro - spoken, fading into drum] Now you know the step. Now you know the sound. And when you hear it again - you’ll know where you belong. (yeah… on the march…)

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