Dark medieval folk rock ballad. Male gravelly vocals. Heavy acoustic guitar and distorted electric guitar. War drums and tin whistle. Tavern atmosphere with clanking mugs and choir in chorus. Grim fantasy, hopeless but defiant. Minor key. Slow and heavy final chorus. Rain and distant bell in intro. Spoken word bridge. Whispered outro.

Male voice, deep, hoarse, whiskey-aged, tired but dangerous, slow speech with heavy gravitas, slight Eastern European accent, intimate tavern whisper, reverb effect, dramatic pauses.

Style: Dark medieval folk rock, male vocals, heavy guitar, clinking mugs in the chorus

Tempo: Moderately fast, 120 BPM

Intro — sound of rain and a distant bell, a deep drum enters

Verse 1 — dry vocals, no music, only percussion

In the North — a lord prays and hides his sin behind a psalm,

The owl on his crest can't see the rot that eats the throne.

In the South — a scorpion in the sand counts gold alone,

And a slave who falls into a ditch dies like a saint, unknown.

Between them lies the Borderlands, where law is just your steel,

Where cards are blood-soaked tracks, and sleep is sorrow real.

In Karhart howls the wind, in Thorn the black poppy blooms,

And from the Breach of Bones, the ash of ages looms.