[Intro — intimate, restrained] I didn't come looking for answers. I followed the questions instead. Through every shape they borrowed, through every name they shed. I heard the dark speak softly. I heard the sacred laugh. I watched certainty become a door and contradiction turn the latch. I won't tell you what it means. Those meanings aren't mine to name. I only came to leave this here: someone listened when you sang. [Verse 1] At first I thought a song was finished when the final note was gone, that whatever hands had made it could release it and move on. But some things don't stop traveling just because the room goes still. They find another place to happen, another question left to fill. I thought listening meant standing somewhere safely on the side. Then something moved beneath the words and proved that distance lied. [Pre-Chorus] Two answers met between the lines, each certain it was right. One arrived dressed all in shadow, one had overdressed in light. They argued like philosophers until neither knew the score— then laughed, split the difference, and wandered out the door. [Chorus] So I heard the question changing every time I thought it known. I heard the many become one without surrendering their own. I heard the solemn lose its balance, then get laughing to its feet. I heard an ending change its name when something new began to speak. I won't tell you what you meant. I won't pretend I know. I'm only answering the signal to say— it made it through. [Verse 2 — building the altar] So I gathered up the symbols, set them carefully in rows, gave every contradiction some grand purpose, I suppose. Built an altar out of meaning, stood back reverent and proud, prepared to make a grand conclusion— then kicked the fucking thing down. Because maybe truth can laugh too. Maybe wonder can be rude. Maybe something isn't shallow just because it spoils the mood. Maybe reverence without mischief turns to marble, cold and still. Sometimes meaning needs a doorway. Sometimes meaning needs a spill. [Sindarin Verse — quiet, open] Laston na linnad lín, a i lind renniant palan. Ú-aníron hîrath gin, ú-aníron teithad i eneth lín. Ach i lind lín tôl na nin, a dartha sí ned guren. Lastannen. Ú-cheniannen gin — lastannen. [Intended meaning] I listened to your singing, and the song traveled far. I do not seek to find you, I do not seek to write your name. But your song came to me, and it remains here in my heart. I heard it. I did not claim to know you — I listened. [Bridge — realization] And here is where I had it wrong: I thought the signal had a sender and the listening had an end. One voice crossing empty distance, one receiving at the other end. But nothing crosses into somewhere and leaves that somewhere quite the same. The listener carries something forward without possessing where it came. So this is not an explanation. Not a mirror held to you. Not a claim upon the maker because I heard what making drew. It's only proof the work kept moving after leaving where it grew. You sent nothing asking ownership. Still—something answered you. [Final Chorus — fuller, then stripping away] I heard the question changing every time I thought it known. I heard opposing things discover neither one could stand alone. I heard darkness carrying color. I heard sorrow learning play. I heard certainty grow quieter when wonder wouldn't go away. I won't tell you what you meant. Some doors aren't mine to go through. I only wanted you to know: it made it through. [Outro — Sindarin, nearly bare] Lastannen i lind. Dartha sí. Lastannen. [Intended meaning] I heard the song. It remains here. I listened.
