They crowned the years in polished gold,
Hung banners high so none could see,
The cracks beneath the shining roads,
Or hear the cost paid silently.
Every song was taught to praise,
Every doubt was called a sin,
They sealed the doors with smiling words
And named it peace within.
Truth dies first in every golden age,
Buried deep beneath applause,
Wrapped in silk and righteous fire,
Executed without cause.
When the bells ring loud for glory,
And the past is washed in flame,
Truth dies first in every golden age—
And history signs its name.
The heroes spoke in perfect lines,
Their sins erased, their hands made clean,
Statues taught us what to love,
And what we must not mean.
Ask the widows, ask the graves,
Ask the fields that would not grow,
Gold remembers only triumphs,
But the dirt still knows.
Truth dies first in every golden age,
While the world calls silence peace,
Lies grow tall on marble pillars
As the questions slowly cease.
And when the light begins to rot
And the crowns forget their weight,
Truth dies first in every golden age—
So the empire can stay great.
