About this song
Born from the collision of two primordial skies, Galazeth Prismari is half thunderhead, half living flame. He sees every storm as a brushstroke and every thunderclap as a verse, painting the whole burning sky as his canvas.
Lyrics
[Intro] [Verse 1] Two skies collided and out I came, half a thunderhead, half a living flame. A sphere of light where the cold met the heat, and the first thing I learned was the world keeps no beat. So I gave it one. I lifted my hand, and the storm fell in line at a flick of command. [Pre-Chorus] You think a spell is a tool, a trick, a trade — no, darling, watch closer: it's a thing to be made. [Chorus] Every storm is a stroke of the brush, every thunderclap a verse in the rush. I don't cast — I conjure, I compose, I create, and the whole burning sky is the canvas I paint. Fire and water, the wild and the wise, I'll teach you to wield them, now open your eyes. [Verse 2] Lesser minds plod where I leap and I soar, I'll connect a stray spark to the heart of the storm. Hand me a hammer, a cup, a stone — I'll hand you back lightning you can call your own. I hoard no gold; let the misers grow fat. I gather the sparks. Every spark is a gift — go on, take that. [Pre-Chorus] They came to my college with blood on their hands, and I gave them a stage where a wonder could stand. [Chorus] Every storm is a stroke of the brush, every thunderclap a verse in the rush. I don't cast — I conjure, I compose, I create, and the whole burning sky is the canvas I paint. Fire and water, the wild and the wise, I'll teach you to wield them, now open your eyes. [Bridge] I watched a whole age drown itself in war, and I thought — no, I knew — there could be something more. Not a wall. Not a weapon. A school, a flame, towers of frozen lightning that would carry my name. Technique and abandon, the polished and the raw — both are true. Both are mine. That's the only law. [Bridge build] So perfect your craft, or scream it from the soul — I don't care which, my dears, as long as you go. [Final Chorus] Every storm is a stroke of the brush, every thunderclap a verse in the rush. I don't cast — I conjure, I compose, I create, and the whole burning sky is the canvas I paint. Fire and water, the wild and the wise, I taught you to wield them — now look at the skies. The thunder is yours. The brushstroke is true. I only conjured the lightning. The masterpiece is you. [Outro] Two skies collided. Out I came. And I painted the whole world in fire and flame.
