Two voices in a spoken-word piece, one urgently calling "Wait for me, I'm coming" while asking who you are and where you're going, the other quietly reflecting on tremors and ancient ghosts. Crumbling walls, rocks, love, and surrender build a haunting meditation on longing and unfinished plans.
Wait for me, I'm coming. Wait, I'm coming. Wait. For me. I'm coming to you. I'm coming to you. Who are you? Where do you think you're going? Who are you? I know who you are. Who do you think you are? Who are you to think that you could walk the road that no one's ever walked before? Praise for me, I'm coming. Praise, I'm coming. Praise for me, I'm coming too. I hear the walls begin to crumble in above me, and it sounds like my end began long ago. I hear the rocks and stones Wait for me, I'm coming. Wait, I'm coming. Wait, wait for me, I'm coming. I'm coming to you. Why? Where do you think you're going? Why? Why don't you warn me? Who do you think you are? Who are you to think that you could walk the road that no one's ever walked before? Love waits for me. I'm giving way. I'm praying. I'm dropping weights. It waits for me.
Why won't my hands stop shaking when all the earth is still? When ancient ghosts are waking? So many steps need taking, so many plans need making.
I think I will— I think I will.
