Strings and brass rise together—slow, polished, already walking on a steady tread.

Cooke steps in on born by the river, voice smooth and clean over that same upright step.

Just like the river, he says—he's been running—and the band keeps that motion under him without hurry.

It's been a long—the phrase stretches while the strings gather around it.

A change gon' come—certainty sung over harmony that still holds the arrival open.

Too hard living now; the harmony darkens and his line turns inward, but the tread doesn't loosen.

Afraid to die—said straight, with the rhythm still counting under him like it won't stop.

The long-time-coming shape returns; same waiting melody after that darker verse.

Movie, downtown—ordinary places, delivery still controlled, arrangement still forward.

Don't hang around—the exclusion sits cold inside that calm voice.

Refrain again—same vow, after doors that won't stay open.

Then to his brother—the appeal starts to bare itself.

Brother, help me, please—more exposed now, and the arrangement answers in small bright lifts.

He gets knocked back down—an ornament flashes up, then the line falls onto the knees inside the same pulse.

Times he thought he couldn't last—voice finds a little more height without dropping the step.

Able to carry on—that's the turn, plain and earned.

Final refrain: horns and strings lift the promise, and he holds center through the swell.

Change gon' come one more time—same words, heavier now for everything the track has walked through.

The carried motion thins out and empties—the step just stops being there.