Авторский текст из финального пакета. Сверка с аудио — после загрузки записи.
You came at night.
No banner yet.
No blood
on the field.
You asked me
for victory.
You named the river worth the crossing.
You named the hill you meant to take.
You spoke of borders, roads and harvests,
of what the crown could gain by day.
You asked how long the line would hold.
You asked which gate would break.
You asked me for the shape of winning.
Not once
what winning takes.
I showed you homes
with lamps gone dark.
I showed you beds
that would stay cold.
You watched the border
move one mile.
You never asked
who would grow old.
You asked me for victory.
You asked me for land.
You asked for the banner
still high when war ends.
I showed you the table.
I showed you the seats.
You never asked
what victory eats.
At dawn you dressed the choice in color.
You gave the hunger drums and names.
The young went out beneath your emblem.
The old stood listening to the rain.
A mother learned a different counting:
one plate, one coat, one empty chair.
The map grew clean.
The song grew louder.
The cost
was everywhere.
You called them losses
before they vanished.
You called them numbers
before they fell.
A crown can make
a word look smaller.
A body
does not die as well.
You asked me for victory.
You asked me for land.
You asked for your story
to outlive every hand.
I showed you the table.
I showed you the seats.
You never asked
what victory eats.
I do not feed on battle.
I do not bless the blade.
I only name the hunger
inside the choice you made.
You think the price is mine
because I dared to make it seen.
But every body on that field
was counted
before me.
You asked me for victory.
I showed you the cost.
The crown gained a border.
The houses learned loss.
You called it the price.
I called it the feast.
Now tell me
what victory eats.
They say
I demanded sacrifice.
No.
I only named
the thing
already seated
at your table.
Victory.