[Intro, low raspy spoken voice, close mic] Ja… Breathe in slow, bror. Not too deep. Smoke tells truth when men start lying. [Verse 1, rough, quiet, bitter] I was born where the cold wind bites, where old songs crawl through winter nights, where mothers pray and fathers stand, with blood and salt in their working hands. Then came boots on the frozen ground, iron law and the cannon sound, they took our fields, they took our sons, called it peace when the killing was done. So I learned smoke, I learned flame, learned each wound has got a name, learned a man can cough up blood and still say, “No, I am not done.” [Pre-Chorus, rising, smoky anger] Ja, I got blue lungs, black scars, old ghosts riding in my chest. But freedom ain’t a pretty word, freedom is a burning test. [Chorus, powerful, brutal, anthemic] This is the smoke of freedom! Breathe it in, breathe it hard! From the ruins, from the ashes, from the breaking of the guard! This is the smoke of freedom! Bitter in the throat! For every child they drove from home, for every rebel boat! Raise it high, let it roll, through the street and through the soul! We are not your beaten men, we are fire in the cold! Smoke of freedom! Smoke of freedom! Ja, bror, we choke but we don’t kneel! Smoke of freedom! Smoke of freedom! Let the tyrants taste the steel! [Verse 2, harder rhythm, soldier-like] I carried boys with shaking hands, gave them bread and battle plans, found them rooms where the rain came through, told them, “Sleep now, there’s work to do.” Some were saints and some were knives, some had nothing left but lives, some were too young, some too gone, but the old war kept marching on. You call us cruel, maybe that’s fair, come smell the smoke in Skovlan air. Come count the graves beneath the snow, then tell me what a man should owe. [Pre-Chorus, rougher, almost shouted] Ja, I got blue lungs, bad dreams, gunpowder under my nails. But mercy fed the prison house, and patience filled the jails. [Chorus, bigger, brutal drums] This is the smoke of freedom! Breathe it in, breathe it hard! From the ruins, from the ashes, from the breaking of the guard! This is the smoke of freedom! Bitter in the throat! For every child they drove from home, for every rebel boat! Raise it high, let it roll, through the street and through the soul! We are not your beaten men, we are fire in the cold! Smoke of freedom! Smoke of freedom! Ja, bror, we choke but we don’t kneel! Smoke of freedom! Smoke of freedom! Let the tyrants taste the steel! [Bridge, slower, haunted, intimate] There was a girl with red-stained hands, Coalridge ash and matchstick plans. She looked at fire like it was grace, I saw the same light on her face. I gave her shelter, gave her cause, gave her names and broken laws. She gave me flame no rain could kill, then left before I used her will. Maybe she was right to go, maybe I’m too far below. But when the fuse begins to sing, I still remember everything. [Breakdown, spoken, breathless, ritualistic] Breathe in. Hold fast. See the dead. See the past. No crown. No chain. No lord. No shame. Old land. Old blood. Black smoke. Red flood. Ja… Again. [Verse 3, quiet fury building] I am not a holy man, never claimed clean hands, never said I’d save the world without burning half its plans. I am loyal to my own, to the lost without a home, to the names they tried to bury under empire, ash, and stone. So if I cough, let me cough fire, if I fall, drag me higher, if I die, don’t sing me soft, light the smoke and send me off. [Final Chorus, massive, broken voice screaming through smoke] This is the smoke of freedom! Breathe it in, breathe it hard! From the ruins, from the ashes, from the breaking of the guard! This is the smoke of freedom! Bitter in the throat! For every child they drove from home, for every rebel boat! Raise it high, let it roll, through the street and through the soul! We are not your beaten men, we are fire in the cold! Smoke of freedom! Smoke of freedom! Ja, bror, we choke but we don’t kneel! Smoke of freedom! Smoke of freedom! Let the tyrants taste the steel! [Outro, exhausted, raspy, almost whispered] Breathe in slow, bror. Not too deep. Freedom burns. But chains burn cheaper. Ja… Smoke of freedom. Carry me home.
