[Intro – soft acoustic guitar, low cello drone] I came down with the others when the stars still knew our names Taught the trembling hand to hold the reed [Verse 1] I am Penemue, who opened the black vein of ink Who showed the sons of clay how to press the bitter truth Onto the pale skin of paper, still warm from the tree I gave them the alphabet of sorrow and the grammar of desire They learned to write their hunger before they learned to pray [Pre-Chorus] And the sweet was in the first stroke The bitter in the second [Chorus – fuller, still restrained, with low harmony] I taught them the bitter and the sweet of life How every letter is a wound that will not close How every page is a grave that will not rest I gave them the word, and the word became their exile Sing, if you must, of the knowledge that ruins Sing of the ink that remembers what heaven forgot [Verse 2] They asked for the names of the angels I gave them the names of their own shadow They asked for the measure of the heavens I showed them the length of a single night alone The scroll unrolls like a long confession And every man writes his own fall in the margin [Pre-Chorus] And the sweet was in the first stroke The bitter in the second [Chorus] I taught them the bitter and the sweet of life How every letter is a wound that will not close How every page is a grave that will not rest I gave them the word, and the word became their exile Sing, if you must, of the knowledge that ruins Sing of the ink that remembers what heaven forgot [Bridge – almost spoken, sparse guitar only] There is no pure water left in the well of memory Only the mixture we poured ourselves The Watchers still watch from the cracked firmament But we no longer speak of return We speak only of what was written And what can never be unwritten [Final Chorus – slightly stronger, then fading] I taught them the bitter and the sweet of life How every letter is a wound that will not close How every page is a grave that will not rest I gave them the word, and the word became their exile Sing, if you must, of the knowledge that ruins Sing of the ink that remembers what heaven forgot [Outro – guitar and cello dissolving] The reed is dry. The page is full. The night continues.
