Авторский текст из финального пакета. Сверка с аудио — после загрузки записи.
The third flame
turned in my hand.
One road fell.
One road rose.
Between them,
one door waited
without a name.
The first descent was taken.
The later steps were hers.
I walked beside the silence
where buried rivers turned.
When autumn thinned the orchard,
the lower door drew near.
I held the turning open.
I did not lead her there.
One flame faced the winter.
One flame faced the rain.
I held the door between them.
I did not choose the way.
The key turns both ways.
One road.
One name.
Down into winter.
Back into rain.
No world can own her.
No season can say:
You entered the darkness.
You have to stay.
Above they called her daughter.
Below they called her queen.
I called her by the name
she carried in between.
Each world would make a prison
from love it called its own.
I kept the hinge from choosing
which side would be her home.
A key that turns one way
belongs to the lock.
A road that only takes
is not a road at all.
The key turns both ways.
One road.
One name.
Down into winter.
Back into rain.
No kingdom can own her.
No season can say:
You entered the darkness.
You have to stay.
I do not own the passage.
I do not own the dead.
I keep the second turning
when every torch has fled.
The road below was older
than any name I bear.
I did not build the darkness.
I made a way
from there.
Not down.
Not home.
Only
through.
The key turns both ways.
One road.
One name.
Down into winter.
Back into rain.
One world holds the winter.
One world wakes the grain.
She walks through both kingdoms.
She carries her name.
They call me
keeper of the dead.
The dead
had always had a door.
I kept
the second turning.
I taught the door
to open
back.