Verse 1 The map was a rumor etched in rust and ale, A cog with teeth that whispered “gold in gale,” Dockside barkeep said, “That place chews men like rope,” I laughed with salt on my tongue and a pocket full of hope. [108 BPM; steel-string gtr HPF 90Hz -3dB@250Hz +2dB@3kHz 30%L; concertina HPF150Hz +3dB@2kHz 20%R; upright bass HPF40Hz +4dB@80Hz C; frame drum +2dB@120Hz +3dB@5kHz C; male vox A2–E4 gritty chest, loose phrasing] Verse 2 We chased iron storms where the sky turned black, Gears in the clouds and a furnace in our wake, My first mate Jory spat, “That wind’s got a name,” I said, “Then we’ll steal it and bottle its flame.” [maintain instrumentation/EQ; add gang claps 40%LR; slight tape sat; conversational ad-libs kept] Pre-Chorus Chains started singing, the compass went blind, The sea wore a factory face, all grind, grind, grind— “Turn her about!” Jory cried through the din, I grinned like a thief with a storm to win. [frame drum accents; vox push into upper range E4; EMT140 send rises 10%] Chorus Hey-ho, brass & brine, let the iron winds roar, We’ll drink from the tempest and hammer the shore, Spin, you mad sky, like a wheel on a mine, We’re kings of the gale with our sails full of time. [full gang vocals; widen 60%LR; slap 90ms on lead; +1dB@3kHz lift; bass steady C] Verse 3 We found it at last—an eye made of cogs, Lightning stitched seams through the bellows of fog, Jory went quiet, just nodded at me, “Take it,” I said, “or it takes the sea.” [strip back to gtr/bass; HPFs unchanged; reverb drier; intimate vocal] Bridge I saw my reflection in a gear turning slow, Not a man but a hunger with nowhere to go, Coins in my memory, names in the wake, Every vow traded for one more take, Jory’s hand on mine, “There’s a line, captain—hear?” But the wind spoke louder, a furnace in my ear, “Pay what you owe,” said the storm like a judge, I fed it my fear and it barely would budge. [minimal drum; concertina swells; vox closer to mic; EMT140 1.8s pd25ms; tape sat subtle] Final Chorus Hey-ho, brass & brine, hear the iron wind’s claim, We don’t own the tempest, we borrow its name, Spin, you mad sky, I’ll answer this time, Not king of the gale—just a man in the brine. [full ensemble; gang vocals but tighter; automation pulls lead -1dB end; widen 60%LR; slap 90ms; sustained reverb tail]
