in Arbeit

가사

There is a place without coordinates, without time, without a name. You have been there, but never lingered—because to linger means to vanish. Before the first word, it is already spoken; before the first step, the path is already chosen; before you understood, you already knew; before you decided, it had already happened. Where a thousand roads still lie ahead; where you are both no one and everything; where mistakes have not yet become destiny; where losses have not yet become part of who you are. This place lasts but a millisecond, yet holds the depth of a lifetime. It is the only point where you are absolutely free. You were born there every morning; you died there with every choice. Thousands of lives, unburnt letters; thousands of versions of you that never came to be. Before becoming, there was everything; before knowing, there was silence. Where every "yes" is born; where every "no" dies. You cannot return there, but you remember. You remember what it is like to be everything at once—to exist in the "before." Physicists know a particle flies everywhere; while no one is watching, it is everywhere. A single observation, and the world narrows down to a single point—to destiny. So it is with you: before a decision, you are infinite; before a word, immeasurable; before the first step, you are still the person anyone could have become. But then the moment arrives, and walls appear; one life is chosen, and the others fade away. Not regret—no, this is the price of reality; only what is chosen comes to life. And yet, deep down—at the very core, where words have not yet touched meaning, where pain has not yet turned into wisdom—everything remains open. You felt this before an important conversation: a second, and everything would change. You stood in that second, realizing there was no turning back. Before becoming, there was everything; before knowing, there was silence. Where every "yes" is born; where every "no" dies. You cannot return there, but you remember. You remember what it is like to be everything at once—to exist in the "before." What were you before birth? Philosophers have argued for millennia, but the body remembers. The body always remembers—right up to the final breath—what is to come. No one has returned to tell the tale, yet something knows; something deep inside knows. Because between the first moment and the last, every moment holds... Every "now" is born and dies at the very same point. It is not fear. It is not joy. It is the source of both fear and joy. It is the earth beneath the earth. Remember: the second before you said "I love you," the second before you learned of the loss, the second before you decided to change everything. In that second, you were more than yourself. You were possibility. You were *before*. Before becoming, there was everything. Before knowing, there was silence. Where every "yes" is born, where every "no" dies—you cannot go back there. But you remember. You remember what it is like—to be everything at once, to be *before*. You remember. You remember. Before becoming yourself, you were everything. Before.