INTRO — low pulse like distant hooves beneath floorboards] Dust before sound Always Dust before sound [soft layered breath rhythm] [VERSE 1 — restrained, processional cadence] Canvas snapping against the poles Gold thread through weathered wool Something moving along the horizon line Not visible yet Still— every cup turned face down Every doorway tied shut with ribbon Even the dogs refused the road [HOOK — cyclical, memorable, pressured] Do we pay tribute or harden the gates Do we lower our eyes before the dust fully wakes Do we pay tribute or swallow the flame Till the horde passes through us wearing our names [low layered voices] (our names… our names…) [VERSE 2 — pressure becoming behavioral] You could feel the rooms adjusting Speech shortening by the hour Whole streets leaning inward As if listening through the walls Mmh— The baker stopped singing The market bells lost their rhythm Children playing the old siege games again Hands moving faster than thought [PRE-CHORUS — widening harmonic tension] No single rider No single banner Only movement Gathering movement Pressure finding shape [HOOK — heavier pulse beneath, breath groups widening] Do we pay tribute or bury the grain Do we sleep in our boots while the horses cross the plain Do we pay tribute or sharpen the wire Till the horde rides through us pulling whole cities behind [quiet overlapping chant] (behind… behind…) [INSTRUMENTAL — bowed metal, dry drum loop, distant horn] [VERSE 3 — realization spreading fractally] Strange— How quickly people synchronize One silence teaching another One fear opening space for ten more Then suddenly— The posture changes The laughter changes The air itself begins traveling differently Like weather learning architecture [a small breath] And somewhere beneath it— Relief Because movement means the waiting ended [BREAK — pulse drops to low breathing rhythm] No walls forever No gates forever Only negotiations with arrival [FINAL HOOK — emotionally widened but restrained] Do we pay tribute or call it peace Do we feed it enough for one more season’s sleep Do we pay tribute or become the road Till the horde moves through us soft as smoke [voices folding together] (soft as smoke… soft as smoke…) [OUTRO — distant pulse fading into wind] Dust on the tongue Dust in the lungs Dust in the hymnbooks [quiet layered breath] Something already crossing Before the first rider appears.
