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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.