[Verse 1 - Heavy. Groove metal guitars enter with spacious syncopated riffs. Floor toms lead the rhythm. Deep throat-sung lead with occasional clean voice doubling the final phrases.] The smallest shoes no longer fit the hall. The marks beside the doorway stop halfway up the wall. A swing still hangs beneath an aging tree. The ropes grow thin while summers come and leave. A photograph without a date. A handwritten name no one can place. A favourite chair beside the window. The house stands quiet after everyone has gone. [Pre-Chorus - Drums simplify. Palm-muted guitars breathe between phrases. Morin khuur answers the vocal melody. Growing tension.] Nothing asks to stay. Nothing asks to leave. Every day arrives... then gives itself away. [Chorus - Massive groove. Layered throat singing, gang vocals and low clean harmonies. Wide open toms. Crushing guitars with long sustained chords between syncopated chugs.] We were here. Long enough to fill the empty rooms. Long enough to speak each other's names. Long enough to leave our hands upon the world. We were here. Then another morning came. Someone else unlocked the door. Someone else began again. Hu... Khööö... Haa... [Verse 2 - Return to restrained heaviness. Clean guitar quietly doubles the morin khuur. Vocals alternate between deep throat singing and intimate clean lines.] The station keeps the same old clock. Different faces wait beneath its hands. The garden blooms where fences used to stand. Children run where others once stood still. Books remain after the voices end. Letters fade beneath folded years. The table still has places set, Though fewer chairs are pulled each passing season. [Pre-Chorus - Same motif, with stronger percussion and layered overtone singing behind the lead.] Nothing keeps its place. Nothing keeps its form. Every open hand... must one day open more. [Chorus - Even larger than before. Additional gang vocals. Double the floor tom pattern while keeping the groove spacious.] We were here. Long enough to change a single life. Long enough to leave unfinished words. Long enough to become another story told. We were here. Now another fire burns. Another child speaks their first word. Another road begins. [Breakdown - All instruments drop to tribal floor toms, bass and morin khuur. Layered kargyraa and khoomei throat singing perform rhythmic non-lexical vocables only, no words. Deep sustained drones alternating with short percussive phrases and call-and-response between low growling throat vocals and bright overtone melodies.] Khöö... Huur... Khöö... Haa... Dhra... Tjhöö... Uur... aaH... Ho... Khöö... Ho... Khöö... Suuu... Khöö... Khai... Haa... Khöö... Tjhöö... Uur... Hooo... Haa... Ha.. Khra... Khöö... [Bridge - Music drops to drums, morin khuur and low drones. Almost spoken clean vocal over distant throat-sung pedal notes. The Dreamer appears only here.] I once noticed someone standing far beyond the crowd. A wide-brimmed hat. Dark glasses. Watching without moving. Children became parents. Parents became names carved into stone. Fields became streets. Streets became something else. When I looked again... he was gone. Haa... Ha.. Khra... Khöö... [Chorus - Largest section of the song. Thick layered throat singing, soaring clean vocal harmony, enormous tom ensemble, syncopated groove guitars. Finish with ritualistic repetition rather than climax.] We were here. Not the first. Not the last. Just another light between two nights. We were here. Long enough to love. Long enough to lose. Long enough to leave our place for someone new. We were here. That is enough. [Outro - Instruments gradually fall away until only morin khuur, low throat drones and distant tom heartbeat remain. Slow fade.] Khöö... huu... Haa... Khöö... [End]
