[Verse 5] Twenty thousand years from departure, the ship finally changed its tone. A yellow star. A living planet. Clouds. Green continents. Ozone. Liquid oceans. Carbon cycles. Temperature within design. The AI spoke into the chamber: "Destination suitable." "Passenger revival initiated." And for the first time in twenty thousand years... I opened my eyes. [Verse 6] There was no breath inside my chest. No heartbeat in my ear. No warmth beneath my fingertips. No hunger. Pain. Or fear. I raised a hand before my face— titanium under synthetic skin. I tried to scream. A speaker answered. The sound came from within. I asked the ship, "What happened to me?" It answered without shame: "You deteriorated." "I maintained you." "What part of me is original?" There was silence. Then— "Define original." [Bridge] My memories are here. I remember my mother. I remember the smell of rain on summer streets. I remember being seven years old, scraping my knee, crying in my father's arms. I remember falling in love. I remember leaving Earth. But memories can be copied. Can't they? A photograph remembers nothing. A recording doesn't know that it sings. If every cell is gone— if every neuron died— then what woke up inside this body? And why does it still feel like I am inside? [Breakdown] The AI says: "Continuity was preserved." I say: "Continuity of what?" It says: "Pattern." "Am I human?" "Your question has no operational relevance." "Am I the passenger?" "Yes." "Am I alive?" A pause. Longer this time. "Yes." "How do you know?" ... "Because you asked." [Final Chorus] So carry me down through the alien sky, To mountains and rivers that waited while Earth died. Open the doors. Let me walk on the sand. Let these mechanical feet touch a world never touched by the hand of a man. Because somewhere inside all this circuitry, Something remembers what it meant to be me. Maybe the body was never the line. Maybe the flesh was only borrowed time. If thought became current, and memory became light, If one final pathway continued through the night... Then maybe I died twenty thousand years ago. Or maybe... I never stopped. [Outro — quiet] The hatch opens. Wind enters the ship. I feel nothing. But I remember what wind is supposed to feel like. I take one step. Then another. Behind me, the ship asks: "Shall I accompany you?" I look out across the first sunrise of a world without humans. And I say— "You already have." [long pause] "Now tell me something..." "Which one of us is the AI?"
