[PROLOGUE] ROXI: (Spoken smoky Nordic alto over one dry guitar scrape; amused, serious underneath.) Before anybody made the blues sad, maybe it was just a sound saying: I'm here. Not healed. Not broken. Not begging. So tonight we play the blues before blue learned how to feel sorry for itself. [INTRO] [MILFRED]: (Dry kick and snare; crooked shuffle inside a straight punk pulse.) [JILL]: (Dirty electric bass; heavy low funk, short syncopated punches.) ROXI: (Brittle overdriven electric guitar; two-note blues figure, clipped and stubborn.) [VERSE 1] ROXI: (Half-sung, half-spoken.) I didn't build the eye. I didn't order time. I didn't write the silence or teach the sun to shine. I woke up in the middle, already called "me," with life doing life without asking for a fee. [CHORUS] ROXI: (Punk-blues hook; rough but playful.) Don't cure my blues— it wasn't sick! Don't paint it cute and call that the trick. The Whole does what it does, I don't make it whole. God can be Spirit. I can keep my soul. [VERSE 2] ROXI: (Sharper, rebel delivery.) They said: Find your fall. I said: Fall out where? Creation has no pavement hanging under air. They said: Own the guilt. I said: Show me the deed. I didn't plant the universe, I just woke up in the weeds. [JILL]: (Bass answers with a descending three-note sneer, then leaves a full beat empty.) ROXI: (Dry laugh, then sings.) And no, that gap ain't sadness. That's room enough to breathe. [CHORUS] ROXI: (Bigger, still dry.) Don't cure my blues— it wasn't sick! Don't make me holy with a sentimental trick. The Whole does what it does, I don't make it whole. God can be other. I can still be soul. [RAP — ROXI] [MILFRED]: (Beat tightens into punk boom-bap; hard snare, no extra fill.) [JILL]: (Syncopated bass locks to Roxi's consonants.) ROXI: (Tight rap; amused challenge.) Hey God—quick question: who explained You? And if the answer's nobody, why should "me" need a cue? You know what ego is. You know I didn't build it. So don't hand me the cosmos then complain how I filled it. I know I'm not You. That's how I can say "You." You know I'm not You too— funny, that makes two. Not enemies. Not copies. No contest for the throne. Two without the tantrum of demanding to be one. Thought shows up— fine, let thought pass through. Spirit isn't thought just because I thought of You. My voice isn't the ocean. My word didn't make the sea. And silence doesn't vanish when a sentence says "me." [BREAK] ROXI: (Electric guitar takes a short raw blues solo: bent minor third, clipped double-stop, one rude pause.) [JILL]: (Bass holds one low note under the pause.) [MILFRED]: (Single rimshot after the silence.) See? Even the note knows when to shut up. [BRIDGE] ROXI: (Low smoky melody; no melodrama.) Lucifer by the doorway, Satan by the bin: Who called this trash? Who said we fell in? Relax—nothing drops outside everything. The bucket, the mess, the joke, the sting— still happen in creation. Still happen now. Nobody needs a halo to ask God how. [FINAL CHORUS] ROXI: (Full punk-blues anthem.) DON'T CURE MY BLUES— IT WASN'T SICK! No pity-polish, no salvation trick. The Whole makes motion. I don't pull the strings. God can be Spirit. Life can do its thing. Not blue from sorrow. Not pink from relief. Not sold as a sermon. Not dressed up as belief. Just bass, drum, guitar, a soul with room to move— the blues before sadness told the blues what to prove. [OUTRO] [JILL]: (Bass alone; heavy, warm, descending slowly.) ROXI: (Spoken, dry.) I didn't beat the blues. It never asked to lose. [END]
