But it moved your hand. You never named it. But it carved your spine. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the blood. It was what makes them both dance. I touched the void with burning hands, It buzzed with every vow I broke. A flame without a name or face, A shadow dressed in gospel smoke. It breathed under the cathedral stone, Sang with wolves and cradle moans. No eye caught its shifting thread, But still we rise. And still we bleed. A howl between storm and sleep! I am the fire that does not burn, A scream inside your unspoken name! I am the pulse before the breath The soul that screams beyond your death! [Verse II – deeper, more rhythmic, with tribal drums and echoing brass] The prophets danced on broken knees, Drank the darkness between the trees. The silence spoke in ash tongues, And gave the stars their final lash. No altar ever held such a weight, No scripture ever sealed this gate. It passes through bones, sings through scars Builds a crown of falling stars. Only remember. Only survive. Only sing. I AM THE SHAPE OF THE INVISIBLE! A roar that cuts through the seams! I am the voice inside the skin, The spirit that tears inside! I am the heat that moves through the stone The breath that sings when you're alone! I AM THE SHAPE! OF THE INVISIBLE! So light the wind. And let it speak. The soul is fire. And it listens.
