[Verse 1 : Starts with a tense, palm-muted guitar riff, coiled like a spring. The bass is heavy and prowling. Drums kick in with a sharp, insistent beat.] Remember bikes with rusted chains? Remember learning from your pains? We knew the burn of a rope-swing fray, And we fixed our own damn toys that day. They say that world was wild and bleak, Too much grit, too much technique. A population that could stand the fall, Is a population you can't control at all. [Chorus : The song explodes into an open, powerful chord progression. The vocals are a defiant shout, raw and clear.] You want me quiet, safe, and small, Behind a comfortable, padded wall. You tell me, "Son, just play the game," And whisper my convenient fears by name. Well, I see the bars in this pretty cage, As you write the rules and you turn the page. So here's my prayer 'til the system falls: Pad my wallet, not my walls. [Verse 2 : The music tightens up again for the verse. The vocal delivery is faster, more cynical, almost a sneer.] So sell me insurance for a rainy day, And a brand new car from a new IPA. Get me worried 'bout the gluten in my bread, While you're building a casino on my hospital bed. Yeah, wrap my kids in organic fleece, And sell me a 24/7 "peace." But a man who's terrified to lose his stuff, Will never, ever say "enough's enough." [Chorus - More aggressive this time. Another guitar track might layer in for thickness. Backing vocals shout the final line.] You want me quiet, safe, and small, Behind a comfortable, padded wall! You tell me, "Son, just play the game," And whisper my convenient fears by name! Well, I see the bars in this pretty cage, As you write the rules and you turn the page! So here's my prayer 'til the system falls: Pad my wallet, not my walls! [Bridge : The music drops to a heavy, menacing groove. The bass and drums are prominent. The vocals are a low, spoken-word snarl, as if revealing a secret.] The strategy is simple. The strategy is clean. Keep 'em fat and happy on the screen. Give 'em fifty kinds of beer and a 4K view, So they don't see what we're really doing to you. Give 'em just enough rope to tie a pretty knot, Make 'em thank you for the little that they've got. Yeah, a rebel yell is a scary sound, When you're mortgaged to a hole in the ground. [Guitar Solo. The solo is not melodic; it's a visceral outburst. It uses feedback, aggressive whammy bar dives, and fast, percussive licks. It should sound like something breaking—like glass shattering and walls cracking. It's the sound of rebellion.] [Chorus : The final chorus is a full-on anthem. The tempo might even feel like it's pushing forward. Every band member is at full tilt.] YOU WANT ME QUIET, SAFE, AND SMALL, BEHIND A COMFORTABLE, PADDED WALL! YOU TELL ME, "SON, JUST PLAY THE GAME," AND WHISPER MY CONVENIENT FEARS BY NAME! WELL, I SEE THE BARS IN THIS PRETTY CAGE, AS YOU WRITE THE RULES AND YOU TURN THE PAGE! SO HERE'S MY PRAYER 'TIL THE SYSTEM FALLS: PAD MY WALLET, NOT MY WALLS! [Outro : The band slams to a stop on the final word of the chorus. A single, heavily distorted guitar holds a feedback note. Over it, the vocalist repeats the core message, getting quieter and more intense with each repetition, like a mantra of defiance.] Pad my wallet. Not my walls. ... Pad my wallet. Not my walls. ... Pad my wallet... not your walls.
