[intro: Single voice only; hurdy-gurdy melody winding low with steady drum beat beneath] Steel, not voice, defines a man. The drum keeps time — I do what I can. No choir near, no song for me, Just craft and breath, and mastery. [verse 1: Single voice only; hurdy-gurdy answers each line while drum beats steady] The air is thick with oil and sweat, The straps are drawn, the cords are set. I test the weight, the reins, the brace, The tilt ahead, the measured space. The lance obeys; it does not dream. Its grain remembers every seam. The harness hums, the girders groan, Each sound a law that I alone Have learned to read, to still, to bind— A code of form, a tempered mind. Each tilt, a vow; each break, a psalm. Each scar, a lesson, each wound, a calm. No favor tied, no silken thread, Just skill and silence, coldly wed. [pre-chorus: Single voice only; muted horn echo after two drum beats] They boast of crowns, of blood, of birth, I weigh in steel the measure of worth. No golden words, no pageant’s glare— My craft alone defines me there. [chorus: Single voice only; hurdy-gurdy melody broadens, drum keeps pulse] Steel meets bone, and dust meets breath, The cleanest art walks close to death. By line and form, by calm and storm, I know myself. I am the storm. [verse 2: Single voice only; hurdy-gurdy and drum in steady unity] No banner bright, no painted name, My faith is craft, my god the frame. The lists begin; the crowd will cheer, But I hear nothing — nothing near. Each pass, a breath, a measured glide, No haste, no pride, no fear inside. No joy, no anger, no applause, Just perfect form, and silent cause. [bridge: Single voice only; hurdy-gurdy rises, drum beats tighten slightly] They laugh, they shout, they live for sound, But peace is where no pulse is found. The world’s a field, the man’s a lance, I close my eyes — I call the dance. [final chorus: Single voice only; hurdy-gurdy and drum reach full tone] Steel meets bone, and dust meets breath, The craft remains through life and death. When banners fade and songs forget, The storm endures — I am it yet. [outro: Single voice only; hurdy-gurdy melody slows, drum beat softens to silence] Speak less. Bleed true. That is my creed.
