The Noose

El Mariachi MuerteEMM, Promo

♫ So glad to see you well
Overcome and completely silent now
With heaven’s help you cast your demons out ♫

The truth shall set you free, or so they say mis amigos.

When one finally discovers the truth behind a secret that’s been keeping you up at night, it can be like a weight lifted off one’s shoulders. It can be such an illuminating experience when the light is brought to your eyes.

You discovered one of those truths at Red Snow, Night… It must have been such a freeing experience for you, mi amigo. You feel that weight lift off your shoulders, don’t you?

Do you?

The sad truth is that the truth rarely ever sets us free at all.

Not when all we uncover in that truth is injustices. That truth becomes just a weight around our neck, a noose that tightens ever so more quickly as we lose ourselves to the anger the truth brings.

We stray so far onto the path of revenge that we forget why we were trying to uncover the truth in the first place. We neglect those whose memories we attempt to uphold when we make the truth we find more about ourselves than those we swore to love.

♫ I’m more than just a little curious
How you’re planning to go about making your amends
To the dead ♫

How are you honouring your mother’s memory, Night?

How do you make amends to the dead when her story is lost in anger and grief you’ve never truly dealt with.

We treasure the memories of those that have passed on. That is the Anthestrian way. Remembering the dead through their stories and the songs that brought them life. That is their halo, how we honour them.

But there is no song in your heart, Night. You only remember the unending sense of loss, that she was stolen from you. Now that you have found the truth… It brings not a song, not peace, not memories. Not a halo.

Only rage.

That rage is your noose.

♫ With your halo slipping down
To choke you now ♫

The more that rage eats at you, Night, the more that noose tightens. It chokes you.

That noose has been tightening for so long that you can no longer breathe. You’re dying in your grief, when your mother’s song just wants to be sung.

Yet you’re not singing it. You’re merely screaming at the injustices you found in the truth.

I am not here to tell your story or sing your song, Night.

I am here to stop your rage from spreading.

Watching you choke yourself to death through your grief is hard enough, I’m not going to let you drag Gemini down with you.

When we meet, it’s not going to be the pain of the memory of your dear mamá that chokes you, mi amigo. The pain will be very real, administered by the hands of Cantando la Muerte.

You either learn to move past that pain, or be strangled by it. For one way or another, the music will play for you.