Necro

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 is anew
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 guards 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 guards how to grieve
But the kettle is singing, it's tea-time, 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 guards and the bards keeping score
The dark lord doesn't live here anymore