Авторский текст из финального пакета. Сверка с аудио — после загрузки записи.
Not yet.
One drop
still falling.
One world
waited below.
Before it touched the ground,
I heard another heartbeat.
Before the red could settle,
the wound had formed a mouth.
One face became another.
One cry became a crowd.
I moved before the number
could root itself below.
No blade could end
what blades were feeding.
No hand
could strike it down.
The only way
to break the number
was before
it touched the ground.
Before it falls.
Before it forms.
Before it touches ground.
Before the earth
can learn another name,
I take the blood
before it breeds.
I stop the count
before it wakes.
They saw my mouth
and named it hunger.
They saw my tongue
and called it need.
They never saw
the ground beneath me
waiting for
another seed.
Each drop I held
formed no body.
Each name went dark
before it grew.
The field stayed whole.
The roots stayed living.
That was the work
I came to do.
No blade could end
what blades were feeding.
No mercy taught
the wound to stop.
The only way
to break the number
was to catch
the falling drop.
Before it falls.
Before it forms.
Before it touches ground.
Before the ground
can shape another face,
I take the blood
before it breeds.
I stop the count
before it wakes.
You saw my mouth
and named it hunger.
You never saw
the earth I spared.
I took the wound
into my body.
I made my blood
its final shore.
What entered me
would rise no further.
What I carried
bred no more.
Before it falls.
Before it forms.
Before it touches ground.
Before the earth
can learn another name,
I take the blood
before it breeds.
I stop the count
before it wakes.
They called it hunger.
Let them speak.
I drank
so the earth
would not
have to.
Enough.
The last drop
left the sky.
No body rose.
No wound replied.
I closed my mouth.
The earth
was still.
The drum
was not.