it's not a march. it doesn't have military time. you can't set an army to it. it's wheezing and wandering, strings stretching and groaning, now; it's a song that bends and nearly breaks under its own weight while bringing you into it. this is not a theme that bashes down your door. it knocks politely and asks if you are home in a whisper. it is not polished steel and gleaming mirror shines, it is grit and dust and grime
and that's it, that's the difference
the vader i write is one who is remembering that he is a slave boy all grown, and these masters have kept him on a leash for far too long, and all those promises of those who live in luxury have never gone far
he is not good at remembering and he often stumbles. the tune sways and stops and starts but it keeps going nonetheless
sometimes the gap of a bad man trying to be better and struggling makes the most interesting writing