Wicked Muse

A wicked muse, A symphonic metal anthem reclaiming the story from The myth and the rumors built around me. She walks alone, but the world waves own tale. They wrote my name on the walls of the Night, in ballads of shadows and songs of the Blind. A siren, a sinner, a whisper, A ghost. A tale sung by tongues that have Never come close. And I hear them sing, I hear them swear, But none have dared to meet my stare. I am the legend they love to defile. A Medusa of music, a mistress of guile. They comb their stories in echoes and lies, But I am the storm, and I open my Eyes. A muse for their madness, a myth of their Own. A face they contorted to fit hollow tones. They spin their illusions with venomous grace. They call me curse, they paint me cold. And I hear them sing, I hear them swear, But none have dared to meet my stare. I am the legend they love to defile. A Medusa of music, a mistress of guile. They comb their stories in echoes and lies, But I am the storm, and I open my Eyes. A muse for their madness, a myth of their Own. A face they contorted to fit hollow tones. They spin their illusions with venomous grace. They call me curse, they paint me cold. I am the legend they love to defile. A Medusa of music, a mistress of guile. They comb their stories with echoes and lies, But I am the storm, and I open my Eyes. Sirens whisper, poets dream. They steal my voice and comb their schemes. Yet myths will crumble, gods will fall.