Akala - A Muse To Death lyrics

The Assassin, The Jailer, The
Woman of Purpose
The Scared Husband and The Child Left Behind
All connected by the chains of death
Or strings are they? Or bonds? Or unbounded?
Depending only on your perspective
The rattling keys performed a strange duet
With the footsteps on the concrete
This music, like all music
Was a matter of personal taste
To the woman it resounded glory
The glory that awaited her this very day
To her husband, however
The sounds announced doom
Though they both awaited the same fate how
Differently they came to view what
Lay ahead as the steps and the
Keys waltzed closer to the cells
So the glory and the doom grew more imminent
The jailer was a short, squat fellow
A man blessed with neither looks
Nor intellect that had
Not the humility to pursue
One in-lieu-of the other
He gave the impression of
Being exceptionally ugly
For no particular defect on his face
But as if bitterness had twisted
His rather plain appearance
Into a grotesque cocktail of
Ill matched features
He was also a sadistic man who took
Pleasure in watching others suffer and, thus
Found pride in a line of work that
Even hardened souls usually found challenging
But this woman, this prisoner
Was different some unspeakable quality
Of hers made the
Bully uneasy and the bully chose as
All cowards do to be wary of those
That seem game for the fight
As he approached her cell
The jailer felt that
Unease in himself that he so resented
He looked to The Torchbearer as if
To say "watch this one"
Before unleashing the keys from his belt
And slowly as if opening
The cage of a tiger unbolted
The cell of this woman
"Come now you treacherous whore death
Await's you" The Jailer said
With a smugness barely masking his fear
The Torchbearer laughed
The woman looked up menacingly calm
"Only cowards die heroes live forever" She
Retorted with no hint of
Arrogance or irony and she spat
By The Jailers feet
The Jailer examined the spit on
The floor with contempt
As if he was about to explode in rage
But then raised his
Head only to reveal a wry grin "Ah, bless
This silly little
Woman thinks she is a hero
Listen whore get up, lets go"
The Jailer expected resistance and so
Was made even more uneasy
When the woman got up and
Walked purposefully toward him
Seemingly unbothered
It even appeared for a moment
That her shackled hands and
Feet had been unbounded by the
Surety of her walk
The Jailer joined her cuff limbs to
A lead held by The Torchbearer
Pleased with himself The Jailer then
Moved toward her husbands cell
The difference could not have been starker
The Husband trembled and quivered as
If fever overtook his body
Visibly scared of The Jailer and
All that he represented
The cell door cranked open
"Lets go" barked The Jailer
Strange thing, it was
This man had been a brave warrior
Fighting for principle and freedom
A stalwart in the revolt and every bit as
Brave as his famous general of a wife
But somehow capture had stolen
His fighting spirit
And the knowledge that he and his
Wife now faced certain death left him a
Wrecked shell of his former self
They all walked through the corridors of
The damp dungeon and the
Music of keys and chains and
Concrete now became a symphony
The Jailer, The Torchbearer
The Wife and her Husband emerged onto
The hanging platform and the
Light of the midday sun blinded
Them all for a moment
A rapturous crowd gazed up
Some screaming for death
Wishing these traitors
To The Empire a quick sentence
Others un-politicized in their hate just
Longed to see some blood
But there yet others in the crowd
The Oppressed, The Enslaved
Those of Revolutionary imagination to whom
This woman and her
Husband were legendary commanders who
Had fought the mighty Empire for well over a
Decade with courage and skill
And they had fought for them, for The People
For Freedom the woman of purpose looked into
The eyes of The oppressed and saw that they
Still looked to her
Even now and that how she faced death would
Either give them courage or kill them further
"They had lived lives worse than mere death
So why be scared of must
Come?" she said to herself
She looked at her cowering
Husband and commanded him
"Stand straight! Our People are looking
Do you not know
How sweet it is to die for Liberty?"
The crowd screamed and hissed and
Laughed at this man
Cowered by death and upstaged by his wife
The man did his best to
Muster some kind of strength
But it was no use and as the
Wooden beams creaked beneath his shaky feet
It was clear that every inch of
His fighting spirit had been eroded
The Hangman approached with a
Noose and the condemned
Man had a brief moment to repose
When he saw the face of his only child
Among the crowd all fell silent for him
He was awakened by the feel
Of rope around his
Neck and then tormented by
The thought of her
His only child being left an orphan
And he began to sob and
Beg and resist as The
Hangman fastened the noose
And readied the drop and when asked
For his last words all the man could
Offer was a feeble "Please, please, please"
But before he could finish he was
Interrupted by the awful sound
Of the platform dropping beneath him
And his body fell
He struggled and spat and cried and tried
To escape the The Eternal Clock
The punishment of his tormenters
Eventually the last drop of life extinguished
From him and he hung limp
The Hangman then approached The
Woman of Purpose with
Another noose and she snatched it from him
Like a greedy child eager to
Open a new present
She pulled the noose around her
Neck ceremoniously as if
She were a Queen and this her most expensive
Jewellery and before she could even
Be asked what her
Last words were she shouted
"Liberty or Death"
And leapt into the hanging pit without
Struggling with a smile as
Broad as the ocean until her
Spirit left her body

Is Freedom subjective?

Can we choose how to die?

If Freedom is a lucid dream
Death is a silent scream
That deafens all who dare to
Witness this intrepid scene
The nightmare that ensues is
Our particular views crushed
At the altar of the self, yes
They give us Hell
Words are metaphors agreed upon as I can tell
Freedom is a musical solo played
By a writers pen
Pictures painted by the strings of a violin
A folk-song sung by the brushes
Of every master painter
Is there anything stranger
Than human behaviour?
We chase this thing called Freedom
But know no destination
Someone tell me it's place
Or it's precise location?

Freedom's the rebellious slave choosing
The way to die freedom is lying on the back
Staring at the stars
Freedom a rebellious slave choosing
A way to die