At these fingertips, the future of the Mariachi rests. But having power is not nearly as important as what you choose to do with it, uf.
Won’t you spare her over til another year
Well what is this that I can’t see
With ice cold hands takin’ hold of me
She has always been the key. From the moment I heard her beautiful song, I knew our destinies lay intertwined.
Never would I have ever guessed that my song would be the one that silences hers. But only if I choose to play it. I am the only one who has the power to end life, but it is a power that weighs heavy on my heart.
Play the song and watch her die at my own fingertips, listen to her breathe her final breath and know for eternity that I was the one that led her there… Or let all of Arcadia suffer at the hands of a jealous, vengeful doctor who will stop at nothing to destroy all that stands in his way.
O’ death, can you not spare her over for another year?
Well I am death, none can excel
I’ll open the door to heaven or hell
Whoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
I hear the music calling to me, demanding to be played.
For Arcadia, life must become death. The song must be sung. For if these strings remain silent, she will live but countless others will continue to fall victim to his scalpel.
To kill the one, and save the many. My people will fall if I do not sing my song.
But when the one you must slaughter has your heart in hers, when your songs are so intertwined as life and death are, it is not a choice made on numbers alone.
For numbers are a matter of the mind, music is a matter of the heart. I cannot play that song.
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim
O’, Death
To what do I condemn, at the hands of my foe?
My people, hunted. My music, broken. My livelihood, destroyed. Everything I have ever stood for, now within my hands to protect… All I must do is play that song.
I am the instrument of death, but my fingers simply will not play. I cannot destroy her, for she is my key.
O’, death. Will you not spare me this choice?
What cruel twist of fate do we see when even my silence is deadly.
O’, Death
O’, Death
Wont you spare me over til another year
Doctor Death, you have placed me between a rock and a hard place, perro. For me to stop you, I must stop her.
For me to let her live, I must let you go. I cannot play either song.
I will not be your instrument of death, a trained monkey playing on demand. I will not forget my love, but I will find a way to silence your arrogance.
One way or another, your song ends where mine begins.