The Clay Remembers x Room Enough to Grieve x Room Enou… (Mashup)

[singer A] [Intro — spoken, low] They didn't birth me. They built me. This is what the clay remembers. [Verse 1] I was river-mud, I was nothing, I was nowhere, I was no one, Then hands in the clay on a cold day — now look what I've become: Not someone — something. A servant with a sentence in my teeth, A folded paper prayer in my mouth, it gives me breath, it gives me grief. They call it shem, I call it chain, I call it everything I ain't — A name I didn't choose, a noose I didn't lose, a truth I can't unpaint. Fingerprints still in my face from the maker, see the ridges? He pressed his thumbs in my cheeks and now I'm stuck between two bridges: Alive enough to ache and dead enough to never die, I watch my masters turn to dust and I don't even get to cry. [Hook] 'Cause I'm made, not born — I don't get a choice, They gave me these hands but they kept my voice. Write the truth on my head, watch me carry the load, I'm the golem, I'm the golem — I walk where I'm told. Made, not born — and I'm never really free, There's a word that unmakes me and it's haunting me. [transition] [singer B] River clay beneath my nails, Mountain dust along my spine. You carved a word into my forehead; I woke between the strokes of time. The kiln was cooling, coals gone red, The workshop smelled of rain and earth. You watched me rise beside the table, Unsure what my first breath was worth. A wooden bucket, cracked and waiting, A broom leaned crooked by the door. You said, “Stand watch, and keep us safe,” I wondered what a heart was for. I was shaped to hold the doorway, Made to answer when you call. But the hand that lifts the fallen Does not have to be a wall. I can choose the path beside you, I can tend what time will leave. From the clay you gave a body, I made room enough to grieve. [singer A] [Verse 3] Now let me tell you 'bout the other word, the one they never say, Erase a single letter and the truth just melts away: Emet to met — that's all it takes, one stroke and I go quiet, One little letter 'tween living and the most permanent diet. And part of me is terrified, and part of me is tired, Of holding up the ceiling while the whole house is on fire. So if you're gonna end me, maker, do it to my face, Don't whisper it behind my back like I'm some kinda disgrace. I carried every stone you dropped, I never once complained, The only thing I ever asked is: was I made, or was I chained? [Outro — spoken, fading] Emet... met... One letter. That's the whole difference. Remember me.