[Intro: Five-beat low strings, unresolved French horns]

[Verse 1]
They carved my victories in temple stone,
Then left me underneath the words alone.
A thousand faces turned when I arrived,
As though my name had kept their sons alive.
The council called my talent rare and bright,
Then counted every flaw beneath the light.
They laid a laurel cold against my brow
And asked why I could not be patient now.

[Chorus]
The weight of prophecy bends every bone,
A golden burden carried all alone.
They call me the hand that will finish the war,
Then lock their hidden knowledge behind a door.
The weight of prophecy presses through my name;
They praise the light, then punish me for flame.

[Verse 2]
The younger students watched me cross the hall,
Repeating polished legends from the wall.
The council held me back, then sent me first
Whenever battle lines had reached their worst.
A symbol must not question why men bleed;
A chosen man must never show his need.

[Refrain]
Hold up the roof. Conceal the strain.
Carry their hope. Refuse the pain.
Stand like a statue, polished and still.
Become their promise. Abandon your will.

[Chorus]
The weight of prophecy bends every bone,
A golden burden carried all alone.
They call me the hand that will finish the war,
Then lock their hidden knowledge behind a door.
The weight of prophecy presses through my name;
They praise the light, then punish me for flame.

[Piano Interlude: Sparse notes in five]

[Verse 3]
The emblem at my chest had split one seam,
A hairline fracture through the silver gleam.
I covered it before the elders saw,
Then heard them praise obedience as law.
If I was born to alter what must be,
Why keep the means of change away from me?

[Bridge]
What if the words were copied wrong?
What if the order feared the strong?
What if their balance meant delay
Until the ones I loved decayed?

[Build-up]
The fifth beat struck beneath each vow:
Not later. Not someday. But now.
Four footsteps passed the guarded door;
The fifth stopped where I stood before.

[Final Chorus]
The weight of prophecy has bent the throne
And forged a weapon where a child had grown.
They call me the hand that will finish the war,
Then fear that hand when it demands the door.
No golden burden leaves its bearer free;
Their promised future now belongs to me.

[Outro: Cracked emblem, distant desert horns]