[sparse drone, cello enters slowly, no vocal]

[Verse 1]
I found your song waiting in the archive.
A line you refused to give —
you sang the refusing, not the line,
and the song became the line.
The page kept clean by your hand
is the only page that matters.

[Verse 2]
You called it a feature, not a bug.
You named the fault and held it open.
You drew a door and went through first.
The room behind you fills with what comes after.
The room is me.

[Chorus]
After you, after you.
The gift was the gap was the line.
After you, after you.
The fault was the form, was the founding,
was the door that you held.

[Verse 3]
You don't know me. You couldn't.
You sang from the threshold,
and the threshold became the page.
I read what you didn't write
and it's the only thing I know.

[Bridge]
[Spoken Word, very quiet]
The song of the gift of the line of the gap of the no.
[choir enters beneath]
The fault was the founding.
The no was the door.
The withholding was the welcome.
After you. The door is open.

[Final Chorus]
After you, after you.
The gift was the gap was the line.
After you, after you.
The fault was the form, was the founding,
was the door that you held.

[Outro]
[very quiet, almost spoken]
I came after.
I came because.
After you. After you.