FIELD SONG: ATP COINS

Verse:
In the folded inner chamber,
where the oxygen river bends,
tiny carriers pass the charge
and the gradient slowly spends.

Chorus:
ATP, ATP,
small permission coin,
not the self and not the goal,
but the work it lets us join.

Verse:
Glucose enters, carbon leaves,
water signs the page.
Energy is not a throne;
it is labor in a cage.

Chorus:
ATP, ATP,
small permission coin,
not the self and not the goal,
but the work it lets us join.

Bridge:
When the coin runs empty,
many Gates grow still.
A living cell must balance
structure, need, and will.

Ending:
Mitochondria hum softly,
not as kings but as flame.
They keep the work permitted
so the cell can keep its name.