“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.”
A darkness has befallen Arcadia. Yet while many do not see the dying of the light, I can hear its song fading. Our world cries out in agony.
One cannot see it, but the darkness is upon us. You brought it, willingly. Gleefully, you killed the music and left behind only screaming in its wake. I can hear the songs that no longer play, that which the world has lost, pendejo. That which has been taken.
While Arcadia moves on, unaware of what it has lost, I stand. I fight. I rage against the dying of the light.
She is the key. She who holds the songs of life itself, whom you seek to silence. Life and death, two verses of the same song, eternally intertwined. But your darkness seeks to rend them apart. Oh, La Mariachi Vida, do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. For the darkness has come, and we are all that stands in its way.
“Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
For generations, our kind have played out la musica de la vida y la muerte. Our music brings an order, a balance to the world that must be followed. For without it, Arcadia exists in the darkness created by that silence.
A world devoid of Mariachi is an existence that must not come to pass. I stand, seeing with blinding sight that which is ahead of us should the sound of silence be allowed to play its song. She is the light of the Mariachi, her song must not be silenced.
You, Doctor Death, are the source of this darkness. Your song is one that is screamed, not sung, from the dark existence you have created. A song of jealousy, betrayal and devastation. Yours is the song of a man desperately clinging to a power that should never have been granted to him, and it only ever ends in one way.
Death.
For as much as you feel you control the fate of the Mariachi, there is a song that will always be heard. Can you hear it?
It is a song that is whispered in the silence you have created. A song of defiance, of light and tunefulness. It is the song of life that she sings, that fills my heart. It is this song that remains.
The only song that matters, and it will be your downfall in the end, perro.
Do not go quietly into that good night, Arcadia. Rage, as Mariachi always have, against the dying of the light.