[Intro]
[Twelve-string guitar plays a clipped folk-rock pattern over rim-click drums.]

Six names online at half past nine.
I type, delete, then type: “Children of mine.”

[Verse 1]
The family chat says “Olympus Legacy,”
A marble crest beside a dying battery.
Athena changed the picture last July;
No throne, no eagle—just a cloudless sky.
I write, “Your father faces grave distress.
Send funds, a lawyer, or at least an address.”
The typing bubbles rise like temple smoke,
Then disappear before one answer broke.

[Chorus]
Olympus left me on red,
Twelve blue marks and nothing said.
Hermes saw it, Ares fled,
Apollo sent a thumbs-up instead.
I ruled the living, judged the dead—
Now Olympus leaves me on red.

[Verse 2]
I tag them all at ten-oh-three:
“An insult to your blood and me.”
Athena answers, “Dad, we’ve talked.
You call it love when doors are locked.”
Dionysus writes, “I’m working late.”
Artemis leaves without debate.
Then Hermes posts the landlord’s note
And adds one rain cloud, one small goat.

[Pre-Chorus]
I press the microphone and start
A seven-minute speech from the heart.
The message fails at six-fifty-nine—
“Attachment exceeds the limit online.”

[Chorus]
Olympus left me on red,
Twelve blue marks and nothing said.
Hermes saw it, Ares fled,
Apollo sent a thumbs-up instead.
I ruled the living, judged the dead—
Now Olympus leaves me on red.

[Interlude]
[Short telephone-filtered voices interrupt the acoustic groove.]

Athena: “Do not add Hera.”
Ares: “Mute notifications.”
Hermes: “Please stop sending storms.”
System message: “Zeus has changed the group description.”

[Verse 3]
I rename the chat “Emergency Throne,”
Then find myself briefly alone.
I send an eagle, crown and flame;
The symbols glow but feel like shame.
At midnight one new message lands—
Not praise, not gold, not helping hands.
Athena writes, “Ask how we are.”
I stare until the words turn dark.

[Bridge]
Ask how they are? I know their names.
I gave them gifts, I gave them flames.
I gave them victories, seas and arts—
Did no one tell me to learn their hearts?
My thumb hangs still above the screen;
The quiet feels almost obscene.

[Final Chorus]
Olympus left me on red,
But one hard sentence stayed instead:
“You fill each room with fear and dread,
Then call it loyalty,” Athena said.
I ruled by thunder overhead—
No wonder they leave me on red.
The screen goes dim beside my bed;
Olympus left me on red.

[Outro]
[The band falls away until only acoustic guitar and bass remain.]

I type, “How are—”
Then clear the line.
The typing bubble
This time is mine.
