[Intro]
[A swung low-guitar riff begins beneath the sound of a wooden auction block.]

[Verse 1]
By sunrise, ash lay grey and fine across the market stone,
The rain had made a narrow paste where scaffold feet had shown.
A table held eleven lots with numbers painted white:
A kettle, loom and wedding chest removed the previous night.
The baker bought the miller’s scales for less than half their worth,
The shepherd claimed the eastern field, his bargain bought for dirt.
The assessor read each parcel; not a chapel bell complained,
We stepped around the blackened ash and bid on what remained.

[Chorus]
Ash upon the market, ash beneath our shoes,
We said the court had chosen, so we could safely choose.
Ash upon the market, silver in the tray—
We bought the chairs of neighbours we had watched them drag away.
Ash upon the market, settled fine and grey;
No one called it profit when the priest began to pray.

[Verse 2]
Mara’s sister gripped the rail until her knuckles paled,
She watched a guildman lift the clock that once had marked their days.
He turned the key and heard it strike, then offered one coin more;
The sound crossed through the market like a hammer on a door.
A child held Elsbeth’s wooden spoon and asked who carved the rose;
His father pulled his hand away and bought it with her clothes.
The crowd said goods must serve the town and not be left to rot,
As though the dead had freely packed and offered up the lot.

[Pre-Chorus]
We did not tie the prisoner.
We did not write the page.
We only raised a hand
When the crier named the wage.
But every lifted finger
Helped sanctify the trade;
A market needs a buyer
For the theft a court has made.

[Chorus]
Ash upon the market, ash beneath our shoes,
We said the court had chosen, so we could safely choose.
Ash upon the market, silver in the tray—
We bought the chairs of neighbours we had watched them drag away.
Ash upon the market, settled fine and grey;
No one called it profit when the priest began to pray.

[Guitar Solo]
[A rough melodic lead bends against the rigid auction-block rhythm.]

[Bridge]
The clerk moved through the morning crowd
Without his sash, his head unbowed.
He saw the orchard papers signed,
The widow’s border redefined.
He saw the witchfinder depart
With Peter Kroll’s iron cart.
He saw our hands accept the gain
And knew the court was not the chain.

[Break]
Who bought the blanket?
We did.
Who bought the bowls?
We did.
Who knew the owners?
We did.
Who closed the ledger?
No one did.

[Final Chorus]
Ash upon the market, ash within our shoes,
We blamed the court’s decision for the bargains we could choose.
Ash upon the market, silver paid away—
We furnished homes with objects from the lives removed that day.
Ash upon the market would not wash beneath the rain;
The town had learned that righteous fear could turn another’s pain to gain.

[Outro]
[The riff slows until each beat resembles an auction hammer.]
Sold—the field.
Sold—the bed.
Sold—the names
Of the newly dead.