Your lies

Seven shadows under one dying light,
Seven voices asking: “Who decides what's right?”
They built their towers out of words and gold,
Then left us counting what we couldn't hold
They came dressed in promises,
With silver on their tongues,
They swore we'd see a better day,
They swore it wouldn't take long.
They raised their hands before us,
They called our fear a phase,
Then disappeared behind the doors
Of their immaculate halls.

I watch the streets grow colder,
I watch the lights go out,
A thousand little promises
Become another doubt.
They tell us not to worry,
They tell us to believe,
But every time they take a little more,
There's less for us to keep.
Count the coins.
Count the votes.
Count the hands inside their coats.
Every speech,
Every grin,
Tell me—
who is really going to win?

They promise us heaven
They sell us the sky
Then lock every doorway
And tell us goodbye

Promises in gold,
Promises in gold,
Shining from a distance,
Rotting when they're sold.

And we're left with the silence...

While they count what they stole

Don't tell me to be patient,
Don't tell me to behave,
When fear walks through the city
And you've forgotten every name.
You shake another hand,
You smile another smile,
While someone counts their losses
At the end of every mile.

A table full of silver,
A feast behind the wall,
While empty plates are waiting
In the houses down the hall.
They take another piece,
They always want some more—
But how much can you swallow
Before you choke on what you hoard?

You wanted power.
You wanted praise.
You wanted towers
Built on our names.
You wanted everything—
And still wanted more.

MORE!

MORE!

Maybe fear is what they wanted,
Maybe doubt is what remains.
When every answer sounds rehearsed,
How do we know which voice is real?

They promise us heaven

They sell us the sky

They count every number

While watching us pay

You wanted our silence

You wanted our faith

But doubt is still breathing...

And we are awake.
Promises in gold,
Promises in gold,
Shining from a distance,
Rotting when they're sold.
Promises in gold—
We won't call them truth.
Seven voices rising:
“What did you do with our proof?”