[Intro — distant sung vocal] Run the sequence once again. Keep both names on the screen. [Verse 1] They lifted the contacts from our necks. The room returned in strips of light. I felt the rain on your sister’s coat, the platform where she cried. I knew the third stair woke your father, the drawer that held the key. None of it had happened to me. It still returned through me. [Pre-Chorus] The monitor divided us: two pulses, two clean names. You looked once toward the doorway. I knew what you would say. [Chorus] The memory did not cross alone. The border moved to hold it. Your winter wakes behind my eyes. I know the road—I never drove it. The link went dead. The room stayed still. Two names remained in order. The memory did not cross alone. The border moved. [Verse 2] Three nights later, in the archive, I found a buried track, dated twenty-twenty-six. It named what we brought back. Not you in me. Not me in you. No whole self crossed the wire. Just one more weight upon the scale I used to call entirely mine. [Chorus] The memory did not cross alone. The border moved to hold it. Your winter wakes behind my eyes. I know the road—I never drove it. The link went dead. The room stayed still. Two names remained in order. The memory did not cross alone. The border moved. [Instrumental Break — converging arpeggiators] [Layered sung fragments] Not alone. Not alone. The border moved. [Bridge] How did you know before the first one, before the forms had words for depth, before “remain a separate person” became a box that could be checked? You never called it resurrection. You never promised we’d be one. You only knew what entered deeply would weigh on every choice to come. [Final Chorus] The memory did not cross alone. The border moved to hold it. Your winter wakes behind my eyes. I know the road—I never drove it. The old track played. The room stayed still. Two names remained in order. Someone had named it years before: The border moved. [Outro] Two pulses. Two names. The link is gone. The border moved.
