Silver From The Shroud

Описание: Verse 1
We walk where the daylight drowns in grey,
Where breath comes back as frost,
Where names fall loose from memory
And every step is loss.
The mist remembers warmer days,
The mist remembers blood,
It gathers up what once had form
And keeps it in the flood.

Chorus
So don’t you shape the shroud, my friend,
Don’t teach the fog to sing,
For silver born of sorrow’s breath
Still serves a darker king.
A blade that drinks from dying air
Will thirst for more than foe —
The mist you bind with clever hands
Will claim you when you go.

Verse 2
They say a clever soul once learned
To draw the pale vein out,
To pull a shining thread of death
From vapour, grief, and doubt.
He forged it bright, he forged it keen,
A gift for queen and crown —
But every wound it ever kissed
Left something colder down.

Chorus
So don’t you shape the shroud, my friend,
Don’t teach the fog to sing,
For silver born of sorrow’s breath
Still serves a darker king.
A blade that drinks from dying air
Will thirst for more than foe —
The mist you bind with clever hands
Will claim you when you go.

Verse 3
The rangers found the empty camps,
The armour black with rime,
The blades still bright as newborn frost
But rusted out of time.
No bodies lay, no blood remained,
No tracks to tell the tale —
Just echoes caught in quiet steel
And whispers thin and pale.

Chorus
So don’t you shape the shroud, my friend,
Don’t teach the fog to sing,
For silver born of sorrow’s breath
Still serves a darker king.
A blade that drinks from dying air
Will thirst for more than foe —
The mist you bind with clever hands
Will claim you when you go.

Bridge (hushed / slow)
Achlys walks the borderlands
Where living breath grows thin,
She does not knock, she does not speak —
She only waits within.
And those who mine her silver tears
May dine at gilded board…
But every feast she sets for them
Is paid for afterward.

Final Chorus (softer, almost resigned)
So leave the mist to mourn itself,
Let ghosts lie where they fell,
No crown is worth a breath of that
Cold, borrowed miracle.
For silver born of sorrow’s breath
Still serves a darker king…
And those who make the fog obey
Teach death itself to sing.