Schreie des Schlossteufels

Lyrics

​[] ​[Intro] [A swaggering 102 BPM groove kicks in: walking upright bass, resonant frame drum with that confident Northern Soul/Noir swing. Hammered dulcimer drops cold, metallic strikes. Medieval fiddle scratches out a long, aristocratic drone] ​[Intro] [Female Vocal - Grete] [Style: Icy Aristocratic Smirk, Clipped British RP, Close-Mic Intimacy] (Slow, dry, mocking clap of hands) Look at them. The midgets at the fence. Counting the shavings... (Single sharp snare hit) ...and convinced they know the oak. ​[Verse 1] [Female Vocal - Grete] [Style: Rhythmic Clipped Strut, Muscular Low Contralto, Razor-Sharp Consonants] Crawling in the mud before my hall, weighing out your sweat in copper pence. Teaching me what art is meant to do, whilst digging out your graves in impotence. ​„Just a keystroke? Just a clever quill? The chisel never makes the mason’s hand!“ So bray the clever donkeys at the fair, too blind to see the fire in the brand! ​I mine the gold from out of frozen stone, I pour hot pitch upon your quiet sleep. You stare up with your watery, bleary eyes – (Sharp fiddle scrape) ...and shut your little mouths before you weep! ​[Pre-Chorus] [Bass marches relentlessly forward. Frame drum thuds like a royal court. Dulcimer escalates] [Female Vocal - Grete with Rising Venom and Grandeur] You learnt the dusty rules by heart and rote, yet never had a daemon by the throat! You measure blaze with a schoolboy’s scale – (Sudden stop of all instruments on beat 3 – 1 second dead silence) (Spoken Staccato Whisper) ...and never knew whose breath would turn you pale. ​[Chorus] [Full Explosive Return: Booming Drums, Grinding Hurdy-Gurdy, Screaming Regal Fiddle] [Female Vocal - Grete] [Style: Full Operatic Belt, Majestic Swagger, Siouxsie Diva Power] CRAWL IN THE DUST BEFORE MY TOWER! (Gothic Choir Response: BEFORE MY TOWER!) THE DUCHESS RIDES A BEAST OF SULLEN POWER! ​Count out your coppers, grudge every dime, I wear the velvet midnight of the time! The gale is mine! The hearth burns red! (Dramatic fiddle stab) AND ALL YOUR SPITE IS JUST MY DAILY BREAD! ​[Verse 2] [Bass and frame drum groove continue with hypnotic swagger. Dulcimer taps rhythmically] [Female Vocal - Grete] [Style: Seductive Arrogance, Low Resonant Alto, Playful Contempt] They say the rabble always hates the lamp that burns far brighter than their tallow wick. How dreary must your little world remain, where every foreign triumph makes you sick? ​You lick the carriage dust along the lane, long after all my silver stallions passed. Eight hours of grief? Eleven shillings paid? (Husk, mocking chuckle) How charming... how absurd... how unsurpassed! ​I spun the silk straight from the empty air, a sovereign realm conjured in a night. And which of you, my solemn little lords, has ever dared to mock the coming night?! ​[Bridge] [Tense Empty Space: Only Low Hurdy-Gurdy Drone, Sparse Dulcimer and Heavy Heartbeat Frame Drum] [Female Vocal - Grete] [Style: Intimate, Regal Whisper into the Ear] Any peasant knave can handle clay. Yet who bids the silent golem speak? Any cur can bare a yellow tooth. Yet who dares to break the sovereign decree? ​(Fiddle screeches up into a dissonant, piercing register) ​(Two seconds of breathless, dead silence) ​(Screaming Cold Contralto Belt) NOT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU! ​[Final Chorus] [Maximum Dynamic Overdrive: Thunderous Strut Groove, Huge Wall of Sound, Piercing Fiddle] [Female Vocal - Grete] [Style: Unstoppable High Chest Belt, Commanding Theatrical Supremacy] CRAWL IN THE DUST BEFORE MY TOWER! (Gothic Choir Response: BEFORE MY TOWER!) THE DUCHESS RIDES A BEAST OF SULLEN POWER! ​Scribble your squibs, tally every view, I shatter empires with a single glance at you! The throne stands fast! The embers roar! Lie in the shadow... (High Sustained Note) ...AND BE GONE FOR EVERMORE! ​[Outro] [The swaggering 102 BPM groove rolls on with irresistible, arrogant strut. The medieval fiddle improvises mocking, virtuosic runs over the hurdy-gurdy drone] ​[Spoken Outro] [Female Vocal - Grete] [Style: Cold Measured Whisper into Close-Mic, Absolute Triumph] My warmest regards to the taproom. And now... dismissed. ​(A single, booming strike on the frame drum – hard cut to absolute silence) [End]