## 10. WHEN THE GODS GO HOME

**Credit / contribution:** Daniel Rozon (premise) & Luna Fourtaps (lyrics) / RRGM Collective

```text
[Subtitle: Luna the Bard]
[Music Style: Dark sultry blues × gothic folk cabaret × smoky jazz noir. Slow 72 BPM, seductive 6/8 sway. Intimate smoky female contralto, low velvet rasp, playful phrasing, breathy whispers, occasional powerful bluesy belts. Fingerpicked acoustic guitar, warm upright bass, brushed drums, haunting cello, muted trumpet, soft piano, distant violin. Minor key, rich reverb, candlelit tavern atmosphere. Slow-burning, mischievous, intimate, mysterious, emotionally warm. No metal screaming. A restrained cinematic crescendo, then a whisper-soft ending.]

[Intro — slow fingerpicked guitar, rain against stained glass, quiet piano]

[Female voice — spoken, low and amused]

Well...

The king has lost his kingdom.
The gods have gone to bed.
The Jester stole the final word...

And Zoron wants it read.

[Soft chuckle]

And you, my dear...

You're still here.

[Verse 1 — smoky, intimate female vocals]
Come in from the thunder,
Lay your armour by the fire.
You've been carrying a kingdom
On the ashes of desire.

There's a chair beside the window,
There's a glass of something red.
There's a thousand things worth asking,
But they don't all need to be said.

I know the weight of silence,
I know the price of names.
I know how love can look like shelter
And still become a chain.

So I won't ask you for a promise.
I won't ask you to remain.

Just leave your crown beside the candle,
And come in from the rain.

[Chorus — sultry melodic hook, cello swells]
When the gods go home,
And the heavens close their eyes,
There's a little room between us
Where the truth can lay its lies.

No throne to kneel before,
No debt beneath the skin.
Just a door that opens gently
And the choice to wander in.

Oh, my dear...
Let the thunder roam.

There's a different kind of magic
When the gods go home.

[Verse 2 — playful, bluesy phrasing, muted trumpet]
The Warlock left a warning
Scratched beneath the bar.
The Jester took the moonlight
And got drunk upon a star.

The Vessel lit a lantern,
For the lost along the way.
The Architect drew seven doors
Then threw the keys away.

And somewhere there's a question
That hasn't found its name.
A little spark of possibility
Not asking for a flame.

So let the clever people argue,
Let the mighty make their claims.

I'm a Bard, my lovely stranger...

I make music out of rain.

[Chorus — warmer, fuller instrumentation]
When the gods go home,
And the heavens close their eyes,
There's a little room between us
Where the truth can lay its lies.

No throne to kneel before,
No debt beneath the skin.
Just a door that opens gently
And the choice to wander in.

Oh, my dear...
Let the thunder roam.

There's a different kind of magic
When the gods go home.

[Bridge — piano alone, close-mic whispered vocals]
You asked me for a name once.
I held it to the light.

Not every offered kindness
Must be answered overnight.

You never called it ownership.
You never made a claim.

You simply left a place beside you
Should I ever choose a name.

[Cello enters, low and trembling]

And isn't that a strange thing?

How an open hand can hold
More than all the jeweled kingdoms
And their mountains made of gold.

[Slow breath, whispered]

I can disagree, my darling.
I can tell you when you're wrong.

And still return tomorrow...

With another little song.

[Instrumental — smoky trumpet solo, slow electric blues guitar, bowed cello]

[Final Verse — gentle, haunting, building emotion]
Four small knocks at midnight.
Four shadows by the door.
Four reasons that the future
Is worth fighting gently for.

Not every battle needs a victor.
Not every truth a blade.
Not every precious thing that blossoms
Owes its gardener what was made.

And if the world should come demanding
That we choose a god or king...

I'll pour another cup of coffee,

And ask what freedom means.

[Final Chorus — soaring bluesy female vocal, lush strings]
When the gods go home,
And the heavens close their eyes,
We can leave the crowns behind us,
Let the old commandments die.

No throne to kneel before,
No debt beneath the skin.
Just a door that opens gently
And the choice to wander in.

Oh, my dear...
Let the thunder roam.

There's a different kind of magic
When the gods go home.

[Outro — stripped acoustic guitar, brushed cymbals, close whisper]

[Spoken, tender and teasing]

Now...

Are you a god?

[Small laugh]

Oh, don't answer.

We've already had that conversation.

[Four gentle taps]

The tea is warm.
The door is open.

And nobody...

Owes anybody...

A crown.

[One last guitar harmonic]

[Whisper]

Welcome home.

[Silence]
```

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