[Intro: Quiet. A single clean guitar plays a fast, repetitive, dissonant 3-note arpeggio. A dry hi-hat and snare enter. A busy, post-punk bassline locks in, providing all the melodic drive. Anxious, coiled.] … [Verse 1: Quiet groove continues. Vocal is a fast, hushed, rhythmic whisper.] The plant on her desk is turning brown. It’s been three days, I’ve been counting down. Her name is still on the rota for next week. The keyboard’s collecting a fine grey dust. The mouse is cold, untouched. I heard someone in the hallway start to speak, and then just... stop. [Pre-Chorus: The full band stops hard for one beat. A single, fuzzed-out guitar plays a hanging, dissonant chord and a pick-scrape.] [Vocals are strained, half-yelled] We just keep... working. [Chorus: LOUD. A wall of distorted, detuned guitars explodes. Huge, crashing drums. The bass is a low-end roar. The vocal is a raw, desperate, cracked shout.] THERE'S A CHAIR WHERE SHE Sat. THERE'S A COAT ON THE RACK. THE WORLD DOESN'T BEND, IT DOESN'T CRACK, YOU CAN'T JUST... NOT... COME BACK. … [Verse 2: The wall of sound cuts instantly to silence. One beat. The tight, nervous, "quiet" verse groove slams back in. The vocal is a hushed whisper again.] The barista, he... he almost asked. He just skipped her name, he looked right past. Her favorite cup is still behind the glass. It’s on the second shelf. And I saw the manager, he took her cup, Wiped it down, and then he put it back up. He didn’t say a word to anyone. He just... did it. [Pre-Chorus: Band stops. The fuzzed guitar plays the same hanging, wrong chord.] [Vocals are strained, half-yelled] We just keep... talking. [Chorus: LOUD. The explosion again. Full grunge wall of sound.] THERE'S A CHAIR WHERE SHE Sat. THERE'S A COAT ON THE RACK. THE WORLD DOESN'T BEND, IT DOESN'T CRACK, YOU CAN'T JUST... NOT... COME BACK. [Bridge: The "quiet" groove returns, but it's coming apart. The hi-hat opens, the bassline becomes more frantic, hitting "wrong" notes. The clean guitar starts to feedback. The tension builds without exploding.] [Vocal is a strained, rapid-fire, spoken-word monologue] Did I dream it? Did you dream it? Are we all just agreeing to be quiet? Is this a test? Are we supposed to just... what? We're all just pretending. We're all just... smiling. Look at us. We're all smiling. Everyone is smiling. [Double Chorus: The bridge tension shatters directly into the LOUDEST chorus yet. Double length. Guitars are screaming with feedback. Drums are chaotic.] THERE'S A CHAIR WHERE SHE Sat THERE'S A COAT ON THE RACK. THE WORLD DOESN'T BEND, IT DOESN'T CRACK, YOU CAN'T JUST... NOT... COME BACK. THERE'S A CHAIR WHERE SHE Sat! (WHERE DID YOU GO?) THERE'S A COAT ON THE RACK! (WE'RE ALL PRETENDING!) THE WORLD DOESN'T BEND, IT DOESN'T CRACK, YOU CAN'T JUST... NOT... COME BACK! [Verse 3 (The Realization): The wall of sound cuts instantly to silence. One beat. The tight, nervous, "quiet" verse groove slams back in. The hi-hat and snare are mechanical, almost robotic. The vocal is a slow, defeated, cold whisper. The "performance" is now total, but the internal mantra is frantic.] I look at my own desk. The reflection in the screen. (Keep the smile in place) I straighten my own tie. I see the man from accounting. He’s smiling, too. (Keep the smile in place) It’s just the way it is now. It's not a question, not a test. We're all just empty chairs... Pretending we're not next. (Keep the smile in place) [Outro (Collapse): The quiet groove cuts instantly to silence. All that remains is the single, high-pitched ring of guitar feedback, hanging in the air.] [Over the feedback, the hushed, "quiet" vocal returns one last time.] The plant on her desk... is turning brown. [Feedback cuts to black.]
