[Intro: A single, high, sterile fluorescent hum. A low, ominous pipe organ note fades in and holds beneath it. The sound of a dry mouth, up close to the mic.] [half-spoken] The wallpaper… has eyes again. [Verse 1: A skittering, low-mixed drum machine loop enters. A repetitive, two-note sawtooth synth bass provides a simple, driving hook. The organ and hum continue, unchanging.] The posters on the overpass are smiling (A new kind of hunger) They promise us a clean and vital future While they’re feeding on the willing And the bronze men in the plaza The heroes cast in glory They’ve been turning their heads... just fractions Listening for the new consensus The pavement cracks are spreading (Like sigils in the damp) The city’s re-arranging The letters on its map. [Refrain: All instrumentation cuts out abruptly. Only the sterile fluorescent hum remains. The vocals are a hushed, fragile falsetto.] The concrete is listening The steel has learned to hum [Verse 2: The drum loop and synth bass slam back in, twice as loud, with light distortion. Glitched, reversed, and cut-up choral samples ("oohs" and "aahs") fight against the organ drone.] The paranoia’s in the house now It’s in the pipes and in the floors My kettle whistles a new anthem (A tune I’ve never heard) The television screen stays warm Even when the power’s dead It’s broadcasting in monochrome Directly in my head And the paint... that awful, sterile green The color of a silent, quick admission It isn’t just a color (It's a chemical condition) [Refrain: All instrumentation cuts out again. The silence is more jarring. Only the hum. Vocals are again a hushed, fragile falsetto.] The concrete is listening The steel has learned to hum [Bridge: A pounding, four-on-the-floor industrial kick drum enters. The pipe organ begins playing a massive, menacing, minor-key melody. The synth bass is now a wall of fuzz. The vocals become strained, rhythmic, and urgent.] Is it me? Or did the whole world just agree at once? Is it me? Or did the silence finally find its tongue? We all saw the signal (Pretended it was light) We learned the new compliance (We gave up all our rights) It’s not a boot that’s stamping It’s a million tiny clicks It’s the sound of all the good men Getting comfortable with it. [Instrumental Break / Climax: Everything at full volume. The industrial beat, the soaring, terrifying organ melody, the distorted bass. A clean, heavily delayed post-rock guitar enters over the top, playing a simple, haunting, beautiful arpeggio that contrasts with the sonic violence underneath. The glitched choir samples are now a frantic, screaming texture. This holds for eight bars, a pure wall of awful, gorgeous noise.] [Verse 3 / Collapse: The beat, bass, guitar, and choir cut out instantly. All that remains is the deep fade of the last organ chord and the fluorescent hum, which is now painfully loud and central. The vocal is a hoarse whisper, cracked and defeated.] The light was always angry. I just never saw the green. I can feel the pulse in the floorboards. (It’s breathing) I’m tracing all the patterns on the wall. (It’s feeding) I think I finally understand. I finally understand. [Outro: The organ fades to black. Only the sterile, high-frequency hum remains. The vocal is deadpan, monotone, and robotic. Assimilated.] The concrete is listening. (long pause) The steel has learned to hum. [The hum continues for two more bars, then cuts abruptly to silence.]
