Cello Engine Ritual

(Ahh… ohh…)

The strings begin — the ground aligns

A pulse of wood, of steel, of time

Bowed and burning, tight and slow

The engine breathes through gut and bow

No voice alone — the choir binds

A single will in many minds

We move as one — the rhythm holds

Through endless turns, the pattern folds

The cellos drive, the voices rise

A living force that never dies

(Thrum — grind — spark — roll)

The rhythm carves a deeper role

Steel flickers round the wooden core

The pulse insists — demands — implores

Each stroke repeats, yet never same

A circling, insistent flame

Through friction born, through pressure true

The sound persists — it pulls us through

(Ahh… ahh… ahh…)

No stage, no lead, no single name

Only motion — only flame

We move as one — the rhythm holds

Through endless turns, the pattern folds

The cellos drive, the voices rise

A living force that never dies

(The bow still moves… the pulse remains…)