A narrow strait in the Gulf becomes a front line. Missiles paint the morning red, tankers crawl through fire, and somewhere a mother counts the nights between the sirens. Tomorrow the ships still sail, over the bones of men.
Lyrics
A missile paints the morning red
Ancient skies, modern dread
Straits of fire, tankers crawl
Another headline, another fall
The dominoes are leaning, the map redrawn
Every border is a fuse, every treaty torn
ASK ÖVER HORMUZ! Ash on the water, oil in the wind
ASK ÖVER HORMUZ! Empires play chess while cities descend
No prayers can hold what pride has begun
The desert drinks the blood of everyone
Proxy kingdoms, borrowed crowns
Weapons descend like second sons
Insurance rates for the cargo's worth
Human lives priced against the earth
Somewhere a mother counts the nights
Between sirens and the morning light
History rhymes in Persian verse
The wheel turns — nothing learned
March. Burn. Avenge. Repeat. March. Burn. Avenge. Repeat.
ASK ÖVER HORMUZ! Ash on the water, oil in the wind
ASK ÖVER HORMUZ! Empires play chess while cities descend
No prayers can hold what pride has begun
The desert drinks the blood of everyone
Ask över Hormuz...
The strait flows quiet again
Tomorrow the ships still sail
Over the bones of men
Credits
Guitars, bass, drums and vocals performed and recorded by Servant of Insanity.
Violin, strings and synths: AI-assisted arrangement, edited by Servant of Insanity.
Produced, mixed and mastered by Servant of Insanity.