Lyrics

Two hundred years of pride built on ash, foundations laid in borrowed land and blood. We told ourselves a story we believed, but the walls were always thin. I see it now—the instrument in our hands, the cost that someone else has paid. No crown of light, no moral ground to stand, just ruins we mistook for home. But there is a way, and I will walk it, through the dark and into what comes next. Not redemption—I have no right to claim it— but a step, and then another step.