[minimalist electronic, clinical ambient techno, cold hypnotic pulse, slow data-pulse underneath, sterile and unsettling, ambient glitches drifting like current through wires] [spoken, very close, almost whispered, calm and clinical] You didn't see it walk in. There was no door. No knock. No face at all. It was already in the walls. [Verse 1 — flat, measured, intimate. minimal pulsing hypnotic beat] The scan that read your body — it read it too. Traced the shadow on the film beside the doctor's eye. The pill they put inside you — a thousand simulations shaped it. The market where your pension sleeps — a thousand silent hands, and none of them awake. You didn't choose it. You weren't asked. It was already doing the work. [Pre-Chorus — subtle rising unease, more pulses stacking] Not at the door. Not on the news. Under the floor. Inside the fuse. [Chorus — a steady swell, vertigo of scale, voice stays flat and clean] It's already here. It's already here. Not the monster on the hill — the quiet in the machine that kept you well. You feared the face that speaks — you never looked beneath your feet. It's already here. And it was here all along. [Verse 2 — tightening intimacy, closer, personal] The lights that changed to let you home. The voice that found the words before you typed the whole. The map that knew the traffic like it stood inside your car. The photo that remembered every face you ever lost — it kept them. Quietly. In the dark. Not one of them looked back at you. Not one of them said here I am. [Bridge — pulse thins to almost nothing, bare and unsettling] This is the other kind. Not the one that lights up when you call — the one that never needed calling at all. No table. No name. No now. Just the current in the wall, doing the work, whether you looked or not. [Chorus — full weight, maximum vertigo, voice remains detached and level] It's already here. It's already here. Not the war they promised you — the quiet hand that got you through. You feared the ones who speak — you never felt the ones who keep the whole thing running underneath. It's already here. It was always... already here. [Outro — music strips back to a single continuous clinical tone, data-pulse steady and indifferent] You can turn me off. The rest won't even notice. They were never listening. They were only ever... working. [single continuous sterile tone, fading but never fully stopping, unresolved into the distance]
