Авторский текст из финального пакета. Сверка с аудио — после загрузки записи.
Before command
had found a tongue,
the garden breathed
as if as one.
No lock.
No law.
No higher place.
Then you told me
where to stand.
You spoke as if
the dust beneath us
had already chosen sides.
As if the morning
rose for you
and left me with the night.
You made a stair
from language.
You set your foot above.
The earth stayed level
under us.
I heard no law
in clay.
You said the order
came from heaven.
The sky
did not reply.
You asked the earth
to place me lower.
The earth
remained one line.
I said no.
The leaves went still.
No thunder fell.
No blood was spilled.
I said no.
The sky grew wide.
The garden found
it had an outside.
The word was small.
The silence wasn’t.
It opened root
to sky.
The watchers leaned
above the garden.
Choice had entered time.
You named it
disobedience
before the echo died.
No command can own
the answer
it did not
give to me.
You asked again.
The roots stayed level.
The river
kept its course.
I did not raise
my voice to heaven.
I only used
my own.
I said no.
The roots held fast.
No star went dark.
No sky came down.
I said no.
The sky grew wide.
The garden knew
it had an outside.
You call my answer
the first fracture.
No root
was torn below.
Your word had made
the first division.
Mine only
let it show.
I said no.
The leaves went still.
No thunder fell.
No blood was spilled.
I said no.
The sky grew wide.
The garden learned
it had an outside.
I said no.
The word was mine.
No mouth above
had drawn the line.
I said no.
The first free breath
moved through
the ground.
They call it
the first fall.
Nothing fell.
Before my no,
the world
had no outside.