[Intro – tape hiss, distant amp hum, cassette click] [old tape rewind → stop] [single guitar harmonic, long feedback] We grew up where two kinds of noise collided, punk had its fury, metal had its dark. Different uniforms of the same refusal, the same old tape deck rewound our world. [drums enter slowly, dry and heavy] Analog by birth, digital later, out of necessity, we lived through the end of history and several endings after that. [stereo whispers: “right… right… right…”] Now everyone fortifies their certainty, everyone has sources, numbers, reasons, while less and less of the human being fits inside somebody else’s argument. [feedback swell → sudden cut] [Chorus – full band, gang vocals] So let the POGO SPEAK! [crowd shout: POGO!] our long-forgotten parliament of bodies. Where conflict did not have to mean war, and falling gave no one the right to conquer. Let the POGO SPEAK! [gang vocal: POGO!] when every conversation turns into a front. We can collide [impact hit] without becoming enemies. We can disagree... [instruments drop out] ...and still reach out a hand. [one beat silence → massive riff] [Verse II – bass-driven, restrained drums] Pogo was never agreement. That was precisely where its wisdom lived. A contract written without words: even chaos can have boundaries. [crowd ambience slowly rising underneath] You entered the middle willingly, where safe distance disappeared. Someone’s shoulder broke your balance, your shoulder broke another’s. [rhythm becomes unstable, stop-start guitars] Nobody asked what you believed when someone needed lifting from the floor. [TOTAL SILENCE] First, the hand. [single floor-tom hit] Then, the difference. [bass enters] Maybe somewhere along the way we reversed the order. [feedback rises into chorus] [Chorus – wider, louder, gang vocals] Let the POGO SPEAK! [crowd: POGO! POGO!] primitive only from a distance. A small republic beneath the stage, without chairmen, without declarations. Let the POGO SPEAK! Not to reconcile our arguments. [left channel voice: “mine”] [right channel voice: “mine”] Our convictions can remain exactly where they are. [both voices abruptly cut] It is people who need reconciling. [Bridge – half-time, spoken vocal, low industrial pulse] Strange. [digital notification fragments, distorted and unintelligible] We had less language, and more of a world in common. Now we have infinite words, instant connection, access to all the knowledge... [notification sounds multiply → glitch → noise wall] ...and ever more perfect tools for never having to encounter anyone outside our own choir. [all digital noise stops] The algorithm knows who not to show us. [cassette click] Pogo didn’t. [drums begin: heartbeat-like kick] Pogo threw everyone into the same circle. [crowd roar → breakdown] [Breakdown – crushing riff, words separated by stops] Not consensus. [STOP] Not surrender. [STOP] Not conversion. [STOP → feedback] COLLISION [crowd: WITHOUT HATRED!] CONFLICT [crowd: WITHOUT DEHUMANIZATION!] FALLING [crowd: WITHOUT TRIUMPH!] A HAND [music cuts] ...without asking what you believe. [2 seconds silence] [Finale – slow build, punk beat merging with metal riff] So when we next begin dividing this old world into punks and metalheads, X and Y, left and right, ours and theirs... [voices overlap increasingly: “ours / theirs / ours / theirs”] [hard cut] Let the pogo speak. [crowd repeats quietly: “pogo… pogo…”] That imperfect ritual of our noisy youth, where we understood something we, as adults, can no longer explain: [instruments gradually disappear until only bass pulse remains] reconciliation doesn’t begin with agreement. [silence] It begins when you lift up someone [crowd joins the final line] you still disagree with. [massive final chord → long amplifier feedback] [crowd ambience] [cassette stop / click]
