Авторский текст из финального пакета. Сверка с аудио — после загрузки записи.
You came
beneath a god's command.
You set the seal
before the stone.
Apollo named
the road revenge.
You said the hand
was not your own.
You brought the word of Apollo,
bright bronze against the red.
You said the son owed blood for blood.
You said the god had led.
The order had a reason.
The reason carried weight.
We heard the god inside your plea.
We did not call it false.
Then stone began to count the hand
that turned the word to wound.
One word.
One hand.
One wound.
One debt.
The command
entered bronze.
The blood
entered stone.
The command does not pay the debt.
The order does not bleed.
A word can move the hand toward blood.
It cannot be the hand.
The command does not pay the debt.
The reason is not the wound.
Let the god answer for the word.
Let the hand answer
for the wound.
Your father was not fiction.
Your grief was not disguise.
Apollo's word had weight enough
to burn behind your eyes.
But pressure is not absence.
A burden is not air.
A hand can move beneath command
and still be present there.
You were not free of duty.
You were not free of choice.
A god can fill the room with law.
He cannot become
your voice.
One god.
One son.
One mother.
One blade.
No truth may leave the room
to make another
clean.
The command does not pay the debt.
The hand does not stand alone.
The god remains inside the word.
Your hand remains
in what was done.
The command does not pay the debt.
No truth cancels the wound.
We hold the word beside the hand.
We hold them
in the same room.
Your father was not fiction.
The god's command was real.
The duty at your back had weight.
So did the blood
beneath your heel.
We do not make one truth a lie
to make another clean.
We hold the order
and the wound
inside
the same red line.
Hand.
The command does not pay the debt.
The debt cannot become the law.
The god must answer for the word.
The hand must answer
for the wound.
The command does not pay the debt.
No blade can close the claim.
If justice cannot hold them both,
the blood
will speak again.
Blood has
one language.
A blade
makes it repeat.
If justice has
another tongue,
the city
must learn
to hear.