There are two kinds of people in this world – those who build legacies, and those who carry them in song.

One leads through presence alone, leaving behind something permanent. The other tries to get your attention, hoping to be remembered through sound and spectacle.

A real king doesn’t need applause or theatrics. His name is carved into history by what he does – not by how loud he is.

But there are others who speak in riddles, wearing masks and hiding behind music, expressing themselves through poetry and rhythm to make themselves feel powerful.

But truth is simple. When the show ends, the throne is still there – waiting for the one who deserves it.

Some people don’t speak directly, they put on a performance. Everything they do is part of an act.

They don’t confront. They present. Every step they take is part of a routine, every word chosen to fit a theme.

They rely on mystery, hoping it’ll make them look larger than life, but it’s merely a role.

They dress up their threats in metaphors. They use symbols and signs instead of strength.

They talk about curses and roses.

Of fate and finality.

But what they’re really doing is distracting you from the simple truth

They don’t want the throne.

They just want to be seen next to it.

Because that’s all a performer does – get close enough to power to feel important. Their purpose isn’t to take control, but to dress up the moment before someone else does.

They create drama, tension, and atmosphere. But when the lights go out and the music stops, the performance ends. And they go back to being what they’ve always been.

A warm-up act.

Not the king.

Just the one who plays before he arrives

El Mariachi Muerte, you’ve made a career out of acting like death itself. The songs, the rose, the mask – it’s all part of a character you’ve built to make people believe you’re something more than a man.

But the truth is, you’ve never ended anything. You’ve just watched it happen, dressed it up in music, and called yourself important for being near it.

You think your latest song is about me? That you’ve chosen me, marked me, and that I should be afraid?

You’re not here to seal my fate, motherfucker – you’re here to set the stage.

Because all of this – every part of your performance in your miserable little life – has been leading to this one event…

My ascension.

You were never meant to bury me, Muerte – you’re here to introduce me.

You call yourself the voice of death, but I am not here to die.

I’m here to take the throne.

And once your final note fades, the only sound left will be the sound of my name being spoken – not as a warning, but as a fact.

Because you were never the ending.

You were just the opening act.

And like every performer before you, you’ll bow to the throne.

Long live the king.