TITLE:
Merchant of the Long Knife

STYLE:
Nordic Viking metal fused with hip-hop, drop-D down-tuned heavy guitars, pounding war drums, tagelharpa and bone flute, deep throat-singing drones, cinematic strings, male baritone half-rap lead, female contralto lead, massive mixed choir, gang shouts, anthemic, epic, modern heavy production, clear intelligible English vocals, 78 BPM, crushing slow doom groove, sludgy drop-D, deep war drums, menacing

EXCLUDE STYLES:
autotune, EDM drop, lo-fi, comedy, spoken-word only, children's choir, country, reggae

LYRICS:
[Intro - slow tolling bell, coins dropping, low throat-singing drone, instrumental]

[Verse 1 - male baritone, low half-rap, cold and measured, sparse riff]
He never lifts a sword, he only weighs the hilt,
Counts the ships in harbor by the hour they were built.
He sells the northern shield and then the southern spear,
And either side that wins, he is richer by the year.
To him a war's a river and the dead are only freight,
He charts it and he dams it and he opens up the gate.
He smiles at both the councils and he shakes the widows' hands,
Then he writes the next invoice in the ashes of the lands.

[Pre-Chorus - female contralto, haunting, strings]
Who profits from the fire?
Who sells the wood?
Who needs the wound to stay open
Longer than it should?

[Chorus - full band, choir, massive slow riff, chanted title]
Merchant of the long knife,
Your ledger's written red.
You price the living by the pound
And profit from the dead.
Merchant of the long knife,
We see you in the smoke.
No hall will bleed for your gold again.
Your spell is broke.

[Verse 2 - male baritone half-rap, faster, rising anger, double-kick]
Emergency, emergency, the word is on his lips,
Every crisis is a contract, every coffin is a ship.
He burns the proof at midnight and he bills us for the flame,
He buys the silence after and he bills us for the shame.
He is not from the east and he is not from the west,
He is from the countinghouse that profits from unrest.
No flag upon his shoulder and no country in his eyes,
Just a warehouse full of fear that he can sell at any size.

[Chorus - full band, choir, heavier]
Merchant of the long knife,
Your ledger's written red.
You price the living by the pound
And profit from the dead.
Merchant of the long knife,
We see you in the smoke.
No hall will bleed for your gold again.
Your spell is broke.

[Outro - riff slows to a stop, bell tolls, female whisper]
Your spell is broke.