[Intro]
[Unaccompanied twelve-string guitar plays the inverted thunder motif.]

I stand below the balcony rail.
No speech prepared. No thunder tale.

[Verse 1]
The awning drips, the doorway floods,
Gray water carries soap and suds.
A dryer sparks behind the glass;
Blue fire climbs the copper fast.
The tenants crowd across the street,
Bareheaded in the morning sleet.
The landlord sees me, points away:
“You’ve done enough. Do not make weather today.”

[Pre-Chorus]
I could command, I could condemn,
I could call fear respect again.
Instead I take the damaged wire
And ask, “Where does the current feed the fire?”

[Chorus]
This is my apology to the balcony,
To every cup that jumped because of me.
I mistook being feared for being free;
I mistook every silence for loyalty.
No crown, no command, no grand decree—
Just one old god learning how to be.

[Verse 2]
Mr. Klein points toward the drain;
The child in yellow boots says, “Rain.”
Her mother draws her klohs and tight;
The basement flashes hard and white.
I climb the rail, remove my coat,
Wrap both hands around the smoking wire.
The old familiar power wakes,
But this time I decide the path it takes.

[Buildup]
[Floor tom and bass accelerate beneath sustained Hammond chords.]

Not through the walls.
Not through the floor.
Not through a family’s kitchen door.
Down through the pipe.
Into the ground.
Power is choice before it is sound.

[Chorus]
This is my apology to the balcony,
To every cup that jumped because of me.
I mistook being feared for being free;
I mistook every silence for loyalty.
No crown, no command, no grand decree—
Just one old god learning how to be.

[Instrumental]
[Electric guitar and Hammond drive the transformed ascending thunder motif.]

[Verse 3]
The lightning enters through my hand,
A white-hot rope I barely command.
It fights for windows, wire and bone;
I turn it downward through the stone.
The drainpipe glows, the pavement cracks,
The fire folds and travels back.
The building darkens, safe and still;
I fall beside the windowsill.

[Breakdown]
[Only bass and a slow kick drum remain.]

No cheering crowd.
No sacred flame.
Just fourteen tenants
Calling my name.

[Bridge]
I face the balcony above,
The place I ruled instead of loved.
“I broke your sleep. I burned your wall.
I made my anger everyone’s fall.
You owe me nothing—not belief,
Not pardon, praise or quick relief.”

[Climax]
[Full band returns with ascending guitar, Hammond and toms.]

The landlord holds the damage sheet.
I take it calmly in the street.
“I’ll work it off. I’ll clear the drain.”
He asks, “And no more indoor rain?”
I answer, “No. And no more thrones.”
The tenants leave that answer standing on its own.

[Final Chorus]
This is my apology to the balcony,
To every life I made revolve around me.
I mistook being feared for being free;
I mistook every silence for loyalty.
No crown, no command, no grand decree—
Just one old god learning how to be.
You do not owe forgiveness back to me;
This is my apology to the balcony.

[Outro]
[The band resolves, leaving acoustic guitar and one low Hammond chord.]

The child looks up.
“Can you still make rain?”

“A little,” I say.
“When the gardens need it again.”