[Intro]
[Ten descending bayss notes fall beneath slow guitar chords.]
No roofs were burning, no soldiers remained,
The wells stood unpoisoned, the granaries gained.
Yet every house opened to faces too old,
And toys lay abandoned in footprints grown cold.

[Verse 1]
A girl of eight wore a woman’s height,
Still clutching a wooden fox painted white.
Her mother looked younger by half a head,
Called her “my little one,” then covered her dread.
A boy woke bearded beside a child’s shoe,
With ten birthdays missing and none lived through.
The valley bells rang for the army’s retreat;
No one raised a cheer in the rescued street.

[Chorus]
They woke with ten years in the ash, ten candles without flame,
Ten winters through the body with no memory to name.
The battle spared their houses, the throw preserved their breath—
Then life was cut in lengths and weighed against a dragon’s death.
Ten years in the ash, ten summers never known;
A victory stands tallest when its victims stand full-grown.

[Verse 2]
The nameless young mage saw the wooden fox,
Its painted jaw chipped, its tail in knots.
[Tomas]
“I did this. Was I someone kind?”
[Narrator]
Mara could not answer what the dice left behind.
Veyr counted houses and muttered the sum;
Brunna struck her axe-head till both hands went numb.
Lark tried a promise, but no rhyme would hold:
How do you return years to children made old?

[Chorus]
They woke with ten years in the ash, ten candles without flame,
Ten winters through the body with no memory to name.
The battle spared their houses, the throw preserved their breath—
Then life was cut in lengths and weighed against a dragon’s death.
Ten years in the ash, ten summers never known;
A victory stands tallest when its victims stand full-grown.

[Instrumental]
[Cello and low guitar repeat the descending ten-note line while drums leave a silent beat after each phrase.]

[Verse 3]
The mayor brought bread to the five at the square,
Then poured it in mud when he learned why they were there.
[Choir]
“You saved us from soldiers; you saved us from flame.
Which god gave you leave to take childhood in exchange?”
[Narrator]
Mara removed every weapon and plate,
Kneeled in the road by the old village gate.
[Mara]
“No god gave permission. No law made it right.”
[Narrator]
The mayor said, “Then carry our years to your fight.”

[Bridge]
They filled five small sacks with abandoned things:
A skipping-rope handle, two carved wooden kings,
A primer half-red, one milk tooth in thread,
A festival crown made for a smaller head.
The nameless mage carried the fox in his coat—
A debt with four legs and a white-painted throat.

[Final Chorus]
They carry ten years in the ash, ten candles without flame,
Ten winters in their baggage, ten indictments on their name.
The valley kept its houses, but no victory was sung;
The old remained the old ones, and the children lost the young.
Ten years in the ash now march beside the five;
Not every person breathing was permitted to survive.
They left beneath the church bell as the final daylight thinned—
And every stolen birthday weighed heavier than the wihnd.

[Outro]
The dice lay wrapped in a flour sack,
No silver showing through the black.
Yet ten faint knocks crossed every wall—
A child’s lost years still keeping count of all.
