[Intro]
The carpenter knocks beneath the throne.
The beam replies with a hollow tone.
The painter says, “No one will know.”
He lifts the brush. The cameras glow.

[Verse 1]
Gold covers mildew, gold covers mold,
Gold makes the weakest railing look bold.
A column is cardboard, the marble is thin;
The ballroom keeps letting the weather come in.
Inspectors arrive with measures and chalk.
The owner distracts them with thunderous talk.
He points to the shine, to the height, to the view—
No one in front asks what nails hold it true.

[Chorus]
Gold paint on rotten wood,
Shine where the beams once stood.
Gold paint on rotten wood,
A palace built from “someone should.”
One hard fact, one honest sound—
And all that gilding hits the ground.

[Verse 2]
Paper ballots burn near the county gate,
Not changing the count, but poisoning faith.
A clerk locks records inside a steel room;
Outside, men promise a cleansing by noon.
The courthouse windows shake with the chant.
A senator whispers, “I know—but I can’t.”
He signs the objection, lowers his head,
And adds one more plank to the floor of the dead.

[Pre-Chorus]
The carpenter marks where the joists have split.
The painter pours gold and covers it.
The ballroom dances, heel after heel—
Every bright step makes the fracture more real.

[Chorus]
Gold paint on rotten wood,
Shine where the beams once stood.
Gold paint on rotten wood,
A palace built from “someone should.”
One hard fact, one honest sound—
And all that gilding hits the ground.

[Instrumental: cello, low brass, collapsing riff, cracked woodblock pulse]

[Bridge]
[Building]
I did not fall because truth failed.
I fell when every guard who knew
Repainted rot instead of telling you.

[Breakdown]
Crack in the dais.
Split in the stair.
Gold in the nostrils.
Dust in the air.

[Build-up]
The painter drops his golden can.
The carpenter reaches for a hand.
The ballroom stops. The cameras tilt.
The floor gives way beneath the gilt.

[Final Chorus]
Gold paint on rotten wood,
No shine can make the structure good.
Gold paint on rotten wood,
The warning said exactly what it should.
One hard fact becomes the sound
Of every gilded lie coming down.

[Outro]
Dust covers every golden name.
A bare wood beam survives the frame.
