(The rhythmic, heavy clank of a pneumatic industrial tool drives the beat) High-rise greed. Digital seed. Gold in the pit while I bleed, while I bleed! Rust in my mouth. Gears in my head. Living in the trench till I’m dead, till I’m dead. (Whispered) I’m just a missile... moving... miles... (The mechanical whine of a high-torque rotary tool spinning up) Shiny map. Cold trap. Buying the future with a load of scrap! Copper wire. Precision liar. Cutting all the corners just to feed the fire. They take the cut. I get the rut. The grid is groaning... keep your mouth shut! (Full chest-fry projection) FEED IT! THE MACHINE IS BLIND! LEAVE THE SOUL BEHIND! BEND THE RULE! GRAVITY WELL! STUCK IN THE SPELL! BUILD IT! BREAK IT! PROFIT! TAKE IT! (Music drops out to the steady, rhythmic hammering of an impact driver) Fire on the coast. Plains turn to ghost. Flood in the desert—who’s the host? Shift the load. Patch the road. The tech is a liar, watch it explode! Trillion-dollar ghost. (Jonathan Davis-style scatting/growling) Prrr-ta-ka-gee-ga! (The abrasive screech of an angle grinder cutting through steel) I see the grime. Stolen time. Suits in the office... committing the crime! Wrench in the hand. Heat in the sand. You don't understand! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! It’s starving me! It’s killing me! (Unfiltered, screaming fry vocals) FEED IT! THE MACHINE IS BLIND! LEAVE THE SOUL BEHIND! BEND THE RULE! GRAVITY WELL! STUCK IN THE SPELL! BUILD IT! BREAK IT! PROFIT! TAKE IT! Iron... bone... The cut... the throne... Corner cut. System shut. CRACK. GHOST. WIRING. STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! Metal is thin. Where do I begin? Can’t buy the light. Shadow in the night. (Music devolves into chaotic feedback, the whine of a dying motor, and rhythmic, heavy breathing) BUILD IT RIGHT. OR DON'T BUILD IT AT ALL. (Silence)
