[Verse 1: Sly, rhythmic vocals] Born to the dark where the bloodlines weave, Bred for a purpose you wouldn't believe. No eyes in the socket, just a smooth, blank slate, A weapon of Pride engineered for the great. But the genetic loom threw a glitch in the dye, An alabaster ghost beneath a sulfurous sky. Snow-white fur in a pitch-black room, A glaring anomaly bred for the tomb. They said I’d be seen, that a white hound dies, But I learned how to hide in their blindest eyes. [Pre-Chorus: Building tension, staccato] Don't need a lens to watch you bleed, I see the ripples of your every deed. Step to the left, slip through the crack, The Farin Jama'a never take a step back. [Chorus: jazz drop, sharp brass stabs, driving tempo] I’m the creeping chill, I’m the sudden drop, The ticking clock that you just can't stop. A desert dog in a tailored suit, With a silent step and a deadly root. But fifty years of pulling the string, Starts to change the tune that the assassins sing. There is no pension, no rest for the gray, Just a younger hound coming to take it away. [Verse 2: Darker tone, creeping acoustic plucks] I remember the pit where the pups were thrown, Sharpening teeth on our brothers' bone. Taught that the void is the only truth, We bled out our mercy to pay for our youth. I mastered the rifle, the blade, and the wire, A consultant of ruin for hire and fire. I painted the tapestries, rich and red, Leaving a trail of the glorious dead. Always the phantom, the Master Gunner, The Pride Ring’s flawless, invisible runner. [Bridge: Slowing tempo, menacing strum, ticking clock percussion] But the bones start to ache when the fifties creep in, And the Guild doesn't care for the medals you win. They don't let you fade to a quiet estate, They hand you a chalice and tell you your fate. I can hear the new footsteps, the fresh-blooded breath, A new generation auditioning death. They think I’ll just swallow the hemlock and smile, They think they can close out the Master’s file. [Chorus: explosive brass stabs, driving tempo] I’m the creeping chill, I’m the sudden drop, The ticking clock that you just can't stop. A desert dog in a tailored suit, With a silent step and a deadly root. But fifty years of pulling the string, Starts to change the tune that the assassins sing. There is no pension, no rest for the gray, Just a younger hound coming to take it away. [Outro: Tense heartbeat bassline, hushed rhythmic vocals] So I watch the waves. I count the beats. I pack the suit for the midnight streets. If they want my head, they can come and try. But(but) this alabaster hound... [Music stops abruptly] Isn't ready to die(die)... [Final sharp brass stab]
