[Intro — solo cello; exhausted female contralto, barely above a whisper] That is only thunder, little one. Keep sleeping. [Verse 1 — intimate female vocal; cello and faint distant bells] His apron hangs beside the door. The fire has settled into grey. A little horse without its wheels— He said he’d finish it today. He saved the finest piece of oak And marked where little rails would be. I leave it leaning by the hearth. I take the child he’ll never see. [Pre-Chorus — voice trembling; low strings enter] You turn beneath my shaking hand. For one breath, I forget— I start to call him over. I haven’t learned it yet. [Chorus — mournful female belt; slow, devastating orchestral expansion] Sleep, my child, and hide your hands— The dark remembers what they made. Let every bell in Paris ring; I’ll walk until their voices fade. They marked your blood before your birth; They never asked what I would dare. If Hell has learned your father’s name, Then let it learn a mother’s prayer. [Verse 2 — low female contralto; restrained doom guitars beneath the cello] I carry drawings in my cloak: A second box, a different light. He tried to mend what he had done; The ink was wet that final night. I almost left them with the dead. I almost let our name be lost. Then felt you turn against my hand— And knew what burning hope would cost. [Pre-Chorus — exposed female voice; drums briefly fall away] You are not his unfinished work. You are the life we meant to have. I say it softly through the rain, Then say it louder down the path. [Chorus — stronger female lead; immense low guitars, funeral drums, restrained female choir] Sleep, my child, and hide your hands— The dark remembers what they made. Let every bell in Paris ring; I’ll walk until their voices fade. They marked your blood before your birth; They never asked what I would dare. If Hell has learned your father’s name, Then let it learn a mother’s prayer. [Bridge — solitary cello; female voice intimate and painfully clear] Perhaps you’ll have his careful hands. Perhaps you’ll make the wood birds sing. I will not fear you for his face. I will not curse you for his gift. And if the dark comes asking payment, I’ll answer with the breath I own: A child is not a father’s debt. A name is not a soul you own. [Orchestral Lament — brief cello melody answered by weeping guitar; slow drums gather] [Final Build — female voice rising from exhaustion into fierce resolve] I cannot bring your father back. I cannot make the night untrue. But I can take another step— And every step is carrying you. [Final Chorus — devastating female lead; full orchestra, crushing slow guitars, soaring female choir] Sleep, my child, and hide your hands— The dark remembers what they made. But you have touched no golden seam. You have no bargain to repay. Your father’s name is yours to keep; His chains are not for you to wear. If Hell comes searching for his child, It finds your mother waiting there. [Final Refrain — full female voice; choir holds a mournful harmony] A child is not a father’s debt. A name is not a soul you own. Whatever waits beyond this road— You will not meet it all alone. [Outro — orchestra withdraws; solo cello and tender female whisper] Sleep, little one. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you how he laughed. [One distant bell. Cello resolves softly. Silence.]
