Necro

Like, comment, and subscribe for more content. spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5erVx... apple music:   / glum-aleks   lyric: The moss took the tower, the rust took the name, Sixty-some quiet years since the end of the game. Just a garden of roses, a kettle of tea, And an oath on a grave - well, on one of the three. There's a sign on the gate, and the sign isn't new: "No prophets. No pilgrims. No chosen." That's you. But they climb through the thorns with that fire in their eyes, And the roses grow taller each time someone tries. So knock all you want on the crooked black door, Go polish your destiny - kid, what's it for? Go tell your kings, your gods, and the bards keeping score: The dark lord doesn't live here anymore. It's a Tuesday, of course. There's a knock, there's a speech Something grand about darkness, and light out of reach. There's a cup on the table - he swears it's a trap. It's chamomile, darling. You could use a nap. But they never sit down, and they never walk out, And the roses have learned what the knocking's about. Four hundred and counting - and none by design The dark work is over. They keep missing the sign. You want the old monster? Be careful. Be sure. The old rites aren't forgotten - they sleep by the door. Death was taught how to kneel here, and gods how to grieve. ...But the kettle is singing. It's teatime. So leave. So knock all you want on the crooked black door, Go drag your bright destiny over my floor, Go tell your kings, your gods, and the bards keeping score: The dark lord doesn't live here anymore.