While I Hold

/* 👉🏻 Part 0: https://suno.com/s/wgKSVndcv2Llox9s 👈🏻 👉🏻 Part 1: https://suno.com/s/XVC6L2YoyHZHmQGk 👈🏻 👉🏻 Part 2: https://suno.com/s/QLgzwJItIhojyhZA 👈🏻 👉🏻 Part 3: https://suno.com/s/8ePQKQhWIwd7hCIX 👈🏻 👉🏻 Part 4: https://suno.com/s/rXuLXlXXgE3b0R1N 👈🏻 👉🏻 Part 5: this song (the end) 🐦‍⬛ Hook Video: https://suno.com/s/utvHQrHoTJf3P8y2 💜 My longest continuous story so far is now complete. I want to thank everyone who followed these songs, especially those who kept encouraging me to keep going. You’re all wonderful. Thank you so much. To everyone who was hoping for a Zerg invasion of Earth: I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. 😆 */ [intro | instrument only] [verse 1 | settled open] Call it settled. The third step stayed. I stopped treating the gold like a room I might be asked to leave. The animals were already a sentence. They let me finish it in my own mouth. [verse 2 | small things] A rill over black stone. The smell of rain after a heat the language skipped. Wind in the trees when the light goes low and the evening keeps itself. They talk. They thole my silences. A warm light in the chest shared, and past the altar. I had spent a life trying doors. Here the door is a temperature. [instrumental] [verse 3 | hive] Then the reach arrived. A murmur under thought. Their strength lent, like many hands on one oar. I can tilt a border. I can make a raised arm suddenly heavy with sleep. Somewhere a war forgets its next hour. Somewhere a hand sets the bright thing down and calls it tiredness. I stay in the shade. Unshown. The humanity I still love would sort me if it saw the wings. [verse 4 | unseen earth] Both rooms matter. The wood that kept me. The old map stays for the dark. I steer from the hypnagogic edge. Old choices written over the loud ones. Small mercies. Vast ones. A city keeps its river. A field is left fallow on purpose. They call it sense. It is a hive breathing through a woman who learned the third step and left the lock to the house. [instrumental] [verse 5 | millennia] Years stop being a count. I outlast the calendars. The cicatrice of the old body becomes a story the animals tell kindly. Earth grows quiet in the good way. Grass. Balance. The long green exhale. Children are born into a peace they think is weather. It is. It is also me. [final] Here is the bitter grain. The harmony holds while I hold. A very long while. Still a while. If I loosen, the old noise remembers its path. I keep the oar. The animals keep me. That is the covenant. Home is the planet that kept its own form. Earth is the garden I tend from out of sight because love, at this size, is a kind of absence. I am still here. So is the quiet. For now they are the same thing. [outro | instrument only] [the end]