በቀኑ ይፈርዳችኋልና ጌታ እንደገና ይነሣል ፣ በአፈር ውስጥ ይንከባለልዎታል

An AI musical performance of original lyrics by Martin Poole

The Lord will rise again, for He will judge you on the day He will roll you in the dust.

i.
I hear the world breathe
through cracked porcelain skies,
a hum of flesh becoming echo,
echo becoming thread,
thread becoming thought.

A pulse crawls through the floorboards—
metallic,
unfinished,
almost human.

ii.
Gravity tilts,
spills its pockets,
scatters moments like bolts on concrete.
A memory tries to stand,
collapses,
rises again in static.

Somewhere,
a voice unfolds in reverse—
syllables blooming like rust in water.

iii.
I taste the future on the back of my teeth:
copper,
smoke,
and a faint vibration
like wings learning their weight.

The ground beneath me shifts,
whispering that nothing stays buried,
not even the parts we try to kill gently.

iv.
(whisper-turn-scream-turn-silence)

We resurrect ourselves by accident,
every lie we shed
becoming a new limb,
every truth we swallow
becoming a new gear.

And still—
something rises in the dust,
something binding light to bone,
something wearing my face
but walking more boldly.

v.
The world spins a little too fast,
as if time slipped on its own shadow.
I hold the moment by the throat,
feel it tremble,
feel it choose
to live.

closer:
We are all waiting for our own return,
some holy,
some broken,
all unfinished.

And in the dust,
in the quiet,
in the machinery of becoming—

we rise.