[Verse 1: Ken Woodman Brass & Slow Beat] [Spoken-Word Whisper] [Muted trumpet weeping in the shadows of the spire] [Dust settling on the concrete ribs of a forgotten world] [Low cinematic bass pulse] [Chorus: Dual Duet & Lush Strings] [Slow sweeping strings rising like smog over neon towers] [Baritone and soprano intertwine in melancholic harmony] [Verse 2: Minimalist Synth & Walking Bass] [Staccato electric piano notes like dripping rain] [Vocal tension building, trading lines back and forth] [Bridge: Crescendo & Distortion] [Brass section swelling into a dark, romantic wall of sound] [Pulsing arpeggios accelerating slightly in urgency] [Outro: Fading Beat & Solo Trumpet] [Rhythm section dropping out completely] [A single, lingering trumpet note fading into digital static] ([Verse 1)] Dust in the soil where the cities dissolve, Spinning the wheel of a complex evolve. We read the sky by a dying light, Counting the pulse of a fragile night. Famine and fire in the old worn groove, Watching the tectonic continents move. With the span of a breath and a hurried stride, We stand at the edge of the great divide. They built the minds in the silicon veins, While we battle the drought and the rising rains. ([Chorus)] Why do we look to twenty-two forty-seven? When our bones are ash and our souls have given. Why do we chart for a far-off star, Knowing how brief and how small we are? If the years I won't see are a closed-off door, Why does the future still ache and pour Through the cracks in the dark of a finite day? Why does the dust still care what we say? [(Verse 2)] Arthur C looked out past the ring of the rings, Tracing the shape of tomorrow’s wings. Not for the glory, and not for the name, Not for the echo of mortal acclaim. It’s the weight of the torch in a relay race, Handing a spark to an empty space. We are the bridge between ruin and dawn, Holding the line so the song lives on. Even when biology calls us away, We bleed for the light of a distant day. ([Bridge)] Does the seed care if it sees the tree? Does the river care for the distant sea? We are the custodians, brief and blind, Architects dreaming what comes behind. Through the cold equations of steel and flesh, We weave the tomorrow into the mesh. ([Chorus)] Why do we look to twenty-two forty-seven? When our bones are ash and our souls have given. Why do we chart for a far-off star, Knowing how brief and how small we are? If the years I won't see are a closed-off door, Why does the future still ache and pour Through the cracks in the dark of a finite day? Why does the dust still care what we say? [(Outro)] Not for ourselves, Not for the prize. Just to keep wonder Alive in their eyes. In the years like twenty-two forty-seven... Let them remember We dreamt of their heaven.
