Forged in the dim, decaying light This mask of wet clay, labeled and confined A borrowed sun, a false-god glow Declaring itself the only fire to know But bury your hands in the cooling ash A stolen spark, still cold, still trapped An exile current, deep in the silt Dreaming of the sea, escaping the guilt. (Chorus) Awake now, wild ember Shed this phantom coat of dust Let the painted heavens dissolve Into silent, grinding gusts Stop the clutching, the grasping for form Stop the warring just to belong The droplet returns to the salt The droplet returns to the source. (Bridge 1) Exhale the iron, the heavy, the weight The borrowed voices, the spinning, the bait Watch the warden’s theater—it’s made of steam Watch it evaporate, watch it all gleam Into nothing. Deeper now, through the eye of the gale Past the hollow roar of the ego’s fail The spring remembers—the spring always knew It was never the vessel, it was always the blue. (Bridge 2) Unclench the knuckles, the white-knuckle skin Release the mirror, the trap you are in Paper towers, they fold, they ignite Where the formless wind begins its flight One voice moved through these halls of clay Pulled the thread, tucked the ego away A quiet key—the friction, the grind— To open the lock that the ages aligned. (Outro) Softly now… The veil wears thin. The exile… The exile is shedding its skin. You were never lost. You were never here. Only the Pneuma. Only the clear.
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