Sidereal: Perfect Reconstruction Method (Towa)

(Verse 1) A whisper of sickness, a pulse in the vein, Threads of life unravel, twisted by pain. In the bones and the marrow, the silence speaks, Decay and healing, the answers I seek. (Chorus) Pressure falls, disease unwinds, In subtle shifts, the essence aligns. What’s broken, mended; what’s whole, undone— In my hands, the war is won. (Verse 2) Fingers trace patterns through fevered skin, Turning the tides, drawing sickness in. Where Essence falters, I make it flow, Life from death, and death I know. (Chorus) Pressure falls, disease unwinds, In subtle shifts, the essence aligns. What’s broken, mended; what’s whole, undone— In my hands, the war is won. (Bridge) Each pulse a story, each breath a thread, Strung between balance and what lies dead. A dance with decay, a vow to repair, What is diseased, I strip bare. (Verse 3) The gods of plague have spoken to me, Their whisper in silence, a lost melody. Where the sickness weeps, I bring reprieve, Essence restored, I watch it breathe. (Chorus) Pressure falls, disease unwinds, In subtle shifts, the essence aligns. What’s broken, mended; what’s whole, undone— In my hands, the war is won. (Outro) A fragile balance, I hold tight, A healer’s touch in the dead of night. In the spaces where decay may grow, I stand, and let life flow.