[Intro][Muted guitars and floor toms begin a sharp marching figure that stops after every fourth bar.]

[Verse 1: Balder and Móði, male call and response]
[Balder, warm male tenor]
Here is a kingdom drawn in sand.
Here is the border a ruler defends.
Here are the strangers; here are friends.
Now watch the water unmake my hand.
[Móði, rough male tenor]
When the next hungry beast is bred,
Will water protect us with counsel instead?
[Narrator, low male baritone]
The river crossed every mark they made,
Leaving no border, throne or blade.

[Chorus: Male ensemble, firm unison]
No Throne for the Dead,
No crown for the words they said.
Carry the lesson, bury the claim;
Remember the wisdom, refuse the old game.
No chair at the root, no king overhead—
There will be no throne for the dead.

[Verse 2: Male character ensemble, alternating voices]
[Váli, firm male baritone]
Odin once saw farther than we.
A ship needs a captain when storms take the sea.
[Höðr, dark male baritone]
The gold bow pressed through the cloth at my back;
I heard Loki's kindness return through the crack.
[Magni, low male baritone]
Every hammer requires a hand.
[Narrator, low male baritone]
Vee-tharr said nothing and stared at the land.
[Narrator]
The open silence narrowed its tide,
Sharpening distance from side to side.

[Chorus: Male ensemble, firm unison]
No Throne for the Dead,
No crown for the words they said.
Carry the lesson, bury the claim;
Remember the wisdom, refuse the old game.
No chair at the root, no king overhead—
There will be no throne for the dead.

[Break][Acoustic guitar continues alone while the marching drums vanish.]

[Verse 3: Balder, warm male tenor]
My father was more than the harm that he made,
More than the bargains, the wars and the blade.
But love for the dead turns crooked and cold
When grief gives their voice command of the bold.
I honour his hunger for knowledge and sight;
Not every order he gave us was right.
I set down the small golden king;
Evening moved over the glittering thing.

[Bridge: Narrator, low male baritone]
A throne livs on in the bend of a knee,
When one voice names what all others must see.
We broke the chair, but the posture remained;
We buried the king, but remembered the chain.

[Build-up][The march returns, but the accents shift from command-like downbeats to a communal work rhythm.]

[Final Chorus: Male ensemble, full unison]
No Throne for the Dead,
No crown for the words they said.
Carry the lesson, examine the claim;
Remember the person, refuse the old game.
No chair at the root, no king overhead—
We must liv without thrones for the dead.

[Outro: Male ensemble, soft unison]
No throne in the timber,
No throne in the hall,
No throne in the habit
Of answering one call.