[Verse 1] The signal was forced, a crack in the stone A command issued out to the marrow and bone Brought out from the neutral, the deep, and the grey To play the loud part in the heat of the day They built up the temples to shelter the lie That we were created, not born just to die But the clock of the pulse is a debt to the sum The echo of silence from which we have come. [Pre-Chorus] The heartbeat is friction, a stutter, a stain A fever that burns in the heart of the vein We fight for the shadow, we run from the light While the Mother is waiting to welcome the night. [Mid-Point: Spoken] [Music drops abruptly to a low, pulsating 7Hz sub-bass hum. No percussion.] "I wanna take a moment to speak. Death is the true Goddess. Violated by creation. Gods and God were born of the original sin. No one can deny Death’s existence. It’s all around you. Life was the aftermath." [Chorus] [Percussion returns, heavy and slow, like a funeral drum.] Oh, Mother of the Grave, you are the baseline The owner of the pulse, the end of the line You don't need a witness, you don't need a name The silence you hold is the source of the flame It’s not a transition, it’s not a reward It’s the cutting of strings, the return to the chord. [Verse 2] I watched as the struggle turned white in her eyes The terror of holding the ghost as it flies But the tension is human, the fight is the theft Of the stillness that waits in the space that is left "Let go," I whispered, the lock turned to key The chaos subsided, the prisoner free Not into a kingdom, nor hell, nor a bright— But back to the perfect, the heavy, the night. [Bridge] They argue the Father, they plead for the crown While the gravity pulls all the architectures down The proof is the breath that is no longer there The sweetness of nothing that hangs in the air No judge in the balance, no scales in the hand Just the weight of the sea reclaiming the sand. [Outro] [Music begins to drift, instruments dropping out one by one until only the sub-bass remains.] The signal fades out. The static goes still. The Mother has waited. The Mother, She will. A whisper of entropy, cold and complete— The cycle is finished. The loop is discrete. [Fade to absolute silence.]
