Авторский текст из финального пакета. Сверка с аудио — после загрузки записи.
Apollo bore you from the spears.
He washed the blood away.
He laid ambrosia on your skin
and dressed you for the way.
Then Death and I stood side by side.
Your face was washed of pain.
You wore the shape I give the world,
but sleep was not its name.
I laid my hand against your heart.
No second rhythm came.
My brother watched my searching hand.
He did not ask your name.
I carried you from war to home.
Red rain still filled the air.
I listened for your borrowed breath.
There was no breathing there.
The road to waking lived in me.
I knew each turn to take.
I reached for you through all of sleep.
The one I could not wake.
We lifted you above the field.
The bronze grew small below.
The men still shouted from the dust.
You did not seem to know.
Death carried half your silent weight.
I carried all the why.
The rain withdrew behind the hills.
The earth went moving by.
His hands were steady under you.
Mine searched for what was gone.
We shared your darkness equally.
But only I knew dawn.
I carried you from war to home.
Red rain still filled the air.
I listened for your borrowed breath.
There was no breathing there.
The road to waking lived in me.
I knew each turn to take.
I reached for you through all of sleep.
The one I could not wake.
The hills of Lycia turned gold.
The olive leaves grew bright.
We laid you where your people came
and found you in the light.
They called you king. They called you son.
They touched your face and hair.
A hundred voices found your name.
You did not answer there.
I carried you from war to home.
No red rain filled the air.
I listened for your borrowed breath.
There was no breathing there.
The road to waking lived in me.
No road remained to take.
We laid you where your name began.
The one I could not wake.
Dawn touched your face.
You did not wake.