Bloody scarlet, like guilt that water cannot wash away,like a crime tattooed on trembling hands,like fate stained with iron and betrayal,dyed into the melody where every chord is a cry of desolation.
Deep black, like the night that conceals all,where witches whisper promises of power,where a king’s shadow dissolves into nothingness,and silence is written in cruel irony.
Frozen white, like the guise of innocence,like a lost conscience,when all seems clean, yet the spotlight revealsthe unsettling smile of deception.
Shattered gold, like the usurped crown,gleaming and heavy upon a doomed head,a fleeting flame amidst the storm,from a river of promises erased by smoke.
Spectral green, like the forests creeping forth,like the prophecy fulfilled,where every note seems to laughthrough the clenched teeth of an unrelenting tragedy.
The colors of A Macbeth Song are screams and silences. They are forgotten laughter. A tragedy out of time, a concert of fate.
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