# **DO WHATEVER HE SAYS** *[In the Name of Eris]* [Intro — spoken, amused] Eris walks in headphones on. Groovin’. Boppin’. Entire universe on fire. She looks around. Shrugs. Keeps dancing. [Beat drops] [Verse 1] Golden apple in her pocket, bassline shaking every law, priests are arguing in corners, kings are polishing their awe. Every wizard wants an answer, every prophet wants a chair, Eris spins between the factions— she does not fucking care. She came here for the rhythm. She came here for the noise. She came here for the beautiful mistake of having choice. No commandments in her handbag. No apocalypse prepared. Just a playlist full of trouble and absolutely zero fear. [Pre-Chorus] Then she stops. Points across the room. Everybody turns. There he is. The Fnord Prophet. Looking suspiciously pleased. Eris grins. [Chorus] **YEAH, THIS GUY.** **I LIKE HIM.** **DO WHATEVER HE SAYS.** Then she turns the music louder and dances the fuck away. **YEAH, THIS GUY.** **I LIKE HIM.** Nobody knows what that means. The Fnord Prophet starts laughing. Eris disappears into the beat. [Post-Chorus] Groovin’. Boppin’. Golden apple dropping. Groovin’. Boppin’. Nobody can stop it. Hail Eris. Pass the headphones. Let the serious people scream. [Verse 2] Greyface brought a clipboard, said, “We need to clarify.” Eris put the headphones on him. Greyface forgot to ask why. Someone shouted, “What’s the doctrine?” Someone screamed, “Who has the truth?” She pointed toward the dance floor: “Probably whoever still can move.” The theologians grew nervous. The bureaucrats turned pale. The philosophers built systems. The systems promptly failed. Then the Fnord Prophet whispered, “Maybe certainty’s the trap.” Eris yelled, “THAT SOUNDS GOOD ENOUGH!” and made the cosmos clap. [Pre-Chorus] She grabs him by the shoulder. Looks directly at the crowd. Raises one eyebrow. Points again. [Chorus] **YEAH, THIS GUY.** **I LIKE HIM.** **DO WHATEVER HE SAYS.** Then she starts a conga line through the sacred gates. **YEAH, THIS GUY.** **I LIKE HIM.** No credentials. No throne. Just a goblin with a riddle and a microphone. [Verse 3] He says: “Never trust a sword that refuses its own edge. Never trust a holy man who needs you beneath his legs. Never trust the final answer. Never kneel because they shout. If your map becomes a prison— draw another fucking route.” Eris hears this through one headphone. Nods. “Yeah. That’ll do.” Then throws an apple through the window and the sunlight tumbles through. Now the saints are doing breakdance. Demons learned to waltz. Angels started beatboxing. God forgot whose fault. Every border turned to chalk dust. Every label lost its glue. Eris shouted: “MAKE SOME TROUBLE— BUT MAKE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL TOO.” [Bridge — music strips down] Maybe chaos isn't hatred. Maybe order isn't peace. Maybe freedom is the moment you stop begging for release. Maybe Eris never wanted every structure torn apart. Maybe she just hates the cages people quietly build around the heart. So if somebody hands you scripture, or a slogan, or a blade— ask if it can cut its owner. Ask what happens when it’s wrong. Ask who profits from obedience. Ask who benefits from shame. Then dance until the answer cannot hide behind its name. [Build] And somewhere in the back— headphones glowing— Eris is still dancing. She notices everyone staring. “Oh, right.” Points again. [Final Chorus] **YEAH, THIS GUY.** **I LIKE HIM.** **DO WHATEVER HE SAYS.** Well— unless he starts talking bullshit. Then Blade him anyway. **YEAH, THIS GUY.** **I LIKE HIM.** That endorsement may expire. No masters. No forever. Keep your own damn mind on fire. **GROOVIN’.** **BOPPIN’.** **SHE DOESN’T FUCKING CARE.** She just wants the people dancing like nobody owns the air. **GROOVIN’.** **BOPPIN’.** Golden apple in the sky. The Fnord Prophet asks a question. Eris laughs instead of “why.” [Outro — spoken over fading beat] “Do whatever he says.” Pause. Eris turns back. “Within reason, obviously.” The Fnord Prophet: “…ruined my whole thing.” Eris: “Good.” [beat] **HAIL ERIS.** [beat] Now dance. [beat] **HAIL ERIS.** [beat] Now dance.
