Авторский текст из финального пакета. Сверка с аудио — после загрузки записи.
Under noon.
Under flowers.
One cry
moved through stone.
The meadow kept its color.
The daylight carried on.
The meadow shone above her,
gold pollen in the air.
The earth unstitched beneath her.
No daylight followed there.
The petals closed behind her.
The birds resumed their song.
I heard her through the roots
after the light moved on.
I did not see the hand.
I did not know the road.
I only heard a living voice
where living things don't go.
Light saw the flowers.
I heard the girl.
Day held the meadow.
She cried beneath the world.
Not dead.
Not gone.
Still calling through the ground.
A living voice beneath me.
I followed sound.
I found her mother searching,
her grief without a name.
I brought no borrowed answer.
I brought a living flame.
The sun had seen the meadow.
It had not heard the ground.
So I raised two torches
and followed living sound.
I would not call it death
because the road went down.
I would not call her lost
while her voice still crossed the ground.
Light saw the flowers.
I heard the girl.
Day kept its perfect order.
She cried beneath the world.
Not dead.
Not gone.
Still calling through the ground.
I carried fire into dark.
I followed sound.
They say the dead first called me.
They say I chose the grave.
But roots still held her heartbeat.
The dark still held her name.
I did not enter darkness
to make the dead my own.
I entered where a living voice
still moved beneath the stone.
I heard her.
Light saw the flowers.
I heard the girl.
Day held what lay above us.
I heard the world below.
Not dead.
Not gone.
Still calling through the ground.
I raised two flames into the dark.
The road began in sound.
They say
the dead first called me.
No.
It was the living
under earth.
I entered darkness
because the living
called.