[Intro][Plucked mandola counts nine uneven beats while hands brush through tall grass.]

[Verse 1: Narrator, weathered male baritone]
Vah-lee saw sunlight caught under green,
A little gold horse with a hammered mane.
Mag-nee uncovered a queen without eyes;
Moh-thee found towers no hand could raise.
Balder lifted a miniature throne,
Warm from the sun, yet hard as bone.
Fourteen bright figures lay in a mass—
Golden Pieces in the Grass.

[Chorus: Male ensemble, measured unison]
Golden Pieces in the Grass,
Small bright gods from a broken past.
Set them in rows and the old rules start;
Leave them scattered and lose a part.
Gold may endure when the kingdoms pass—
What shall we do with the pieces in grass?

[Verse 2: Narrator, weathered male baritone]
Vee-tharr remembered the tables at night,
Odin moving the king to the right.
Thor laughed loud when a tower came down;
Frigg kept count with a patient frown.
Hoh-thur knew pieces by touch, not sight,
Edges for darkness, circles for light.
His thumb found one with a narrow bow,
A blind man carved in the long ago.

[Chorus: Male ensemble, measured unison]
Golden Pieces in the Grass,
Small bright gods from a broken past.
Set them in rows and the old rules start;
Leave them scattered and lose a part.
Gold may endure when the kingdoms pass—
What shall we do with the pieces in grass?

[Instrumental Break][Mandola and frame drum turn the game count into a tense circular dance.]

[Verse 3: Male character ensemble, alternating voices]
[Móði, rough male tenor]
Set every piece where it once stood.
A game can teach what a ruler should.
[Balder, warm male tenor]
A board makes sides, then calls one right.
[Váli, firm male baritone]
Memory still needs shape and light.
[Höðr, dark male baritone]
Shapes become cages when hands forget.
[Narrator]
Mag-nee raised the hammer, then let it rest.
The figures rang softly against the brass;
No hammer fell on the pieces in grass.

[Bridge: Narrator, reflective]
A tiny king and a tiny grave,
A pawn praised only for what it gave.
Beyond every square, beyond rank and class,
The whole green earth moved under the grass.

[Breakdown][Voices speak the names of the dead over hand percussion, then stop before naming Odin.]

[Final Chorus: Male ensemble, forceful unison]
Golden Pieces in the Grass,
Keep the memory, question the past.
Set them in rows and the old rules start;
Melt them too soon and we tare out a part.
No board beneath them, no rank, no class—
For now we carry the pieces from grass.

[Outro: Male ensemble, low unison]
Not toys, not idols,
Not treasure to own—
Fourteen small questions
Carried toward home.