They don’t really make ‘em like me anymore
I’m practically one of a kind.
My generation is almost extinct
Everyone’s losing their minds
There was a time when the song of my people was revered. A culture built on La Musica, the balance between the songs of life and death. We once sung in harmony, echoing out across the annals of time across Arcadia’s history.
But that was then. When my people were respected, ese.
Before La Mariachi Vida was taken, before the song of life became distorted. Before he sunk his jealous teeth into her, tormented her and twisted her to play her songs for his glory.
Now, I stand alone. My generation is almost extinct. No torch to pass on, nobody left to hear the music of my people. They’re all in hiding, protecting what remains of La Musica in their own way. I remain, practically one of a kind. Defiantly singing my song in the face of darkness.
He took the music from Arcadia, silencing those that dedicated their lives to maintaining that sacred balance. But that which must be sung will never be silenced, amigo. For such is the way of La Musica.
Light my cigarette
Blindfold my eyes
I would rather die
Than compromise
Oh, what did he do to you, mi amor?
Chained and tortured into submission, you’ve been forced to sing his song for long enough now. You’ve been held, silenced in order for his glory to shine. You’ve compromised enough to protect our way.
I’d rather die than compromise. I’d rather scream than have my song be silenced. Mi amor, I will fight for you. The Mariachi have been hunted, forced into silence. I will fight for freedom. I will fight for the music to play once more.
The song of the heart can never truly be censored.
They don’t really make ‘em like me anymore
I’m practically one of a kind.
My generation is almost extinct
Everyone’s losing their minds
La Musica is built on one key concept that give it power. Freedom of Speech. Now that Boswick has sunk his teeth into Arcadia’s business, this freedom of speech has become as rare as the Mariachi that sing it.
If controlling a power like ours is not as simple as chaining it, I am the unchained, uncontrollable. The Mariachi who stands defiant, he who will not be silenced.
I will not be censored into the same fate that she faced at the Doctor’s hands.
I will not back down and be told what I can and cannot sing. My song is my own. If I cannot sing it, I will shout it from the peaks of Olympus. Even the ACA cannot stop my soul from dancing, or my hands from strumming the true song Arcadia needs to hear.
I stand for Arcadia, against silence.
My generation is almost extinct, but before everyone loses their minds, I will stand up and be counted. You can try and silence me, Boswick, but the music will always find you… and my song will be sung.
Whether you like it or not, the music will play.