[Intro: A hyper-realistic, wet, resonant water-drop sound *plink... plink... plink* acting as the sole percussion loop, mixed with a chilling ambient synth drone in the style of Ed Sheeran's Shape of You meets Billie Eilish] [Sound Effect: Floorboards creaking, muffled dinner party chatter] [Verse 1: Smooth, nervous, rhythmic rap-sung delivery in the style of Ed Sheeran] Dinner guests are downstairs, drinking claret wine Talking 'bout the housing market, doing just fine Candles burning low upon the polished mahogany oak While I'm pouring out the gin and sharing a joke My palms are feeling clammy, staining up my cuffs Trying to ignore the ceiling plaster's tiny bluffs Directly overhead in the rafters of the loft Is a parcel wrapped in hessian, no longer quite so soft A single rusty nail piercing through the pine Holding back a secret that's entirely mine [Pre-Chorus: A second percussive water drop enters, tempo feels tighter and more claustrophobic] And nobody can hear the quiet rhythm in the floor While they’re passing round the brie and locking up the door Just a steady little moisture working through the lath Tracing down the wallpaper on a crimson path [Chorus: Haunting, smooth falsetto pop chorus with a dark edge in the style of Ed Sheeran] Plink, plink, dropping on the linoleum floor Right beside the cheese board by the pantry door You think it's condensation from the winter chill You think it's just the plumbing or an attic sill Smile across the table, raise your glass on high While a growing crimson circle catches every eye Oh, the secret in the rafters has a tale to tell Leaking down to dinner from a private hell [Verse 2: Faster delivery, industrial synth bass starts throbbing underneath the drop] The estate agent's wife looks up from her plate Says, "Darling, is that rust leaking down the slate? Looks just like a shadow right above your chair A spreading sort of stain shaped like human hair." My heart is hammering a rhythm like a steam-train engine Trying to distract her with a bit of social mention Passing round the crackers, stepping on the rug While my left shoe is soaking in a tiny red puddle [Pre-Chorus: Industrial hiss and heavy bass rumble build tension] The guests are standing up now, pointing at the crown Of the Victorian ceiling where the drop is dripping down The plink is getting faster, turning into beats Like a pulsing artery through cotton sheets [Chorus: Full dark-pop instrumentation, intense and soaring vocals] Plink, plink, dropping on the linoleum floor Right beside the cheese board by the pantry door You think it's condensation from the winter chill You think it's just the plumbing or an attic sill Smile across the table, raise your glass on high While a growing crimson circle catches every eye Oh, the secret in the rafters has a tale to tell Leaking down to dinner from a private hell! [Bridge: Stripped back to absolute silence except for a single wet drop and a whispered vocal in the style of Radiohead and Ed Sheeran] [Vocal Style: Frantic, close-mic'd whisper] (One drop... two drops... arterial and slow) (Everybody's quiet now, watching it grow) The estate agent reaches up a curious finger Touching at the stain where the iron vapours linger She wipes it on her thumb, looks at it and stares— And screams as heavy boots start walking down the stairs! [Chorus: Explosive, terrifying peak with distorted industrial backing] Plink, plink! Now it's pouring in a stream! Shattering the quiet of a middle-class dream! The attic latch is lifting! The hinges start to groan! And the body in the rafters is coming down alone! [Outro: Beat cuts out abruptly. Only the wet, heavy sound of dripping blood remaining] [Vocal Style: Calm, utterly unhinged Ed Sheeran conversational tone] Oh, don't mind the mess on the kitchen floor. We're just carving the joint... And you're next on the tour. [Sound Effect: One final, heavy splash, followed by a dinner party scream and a slammed door] [End]
