[Intro — close UK patter, upright piano, bowed bass, brass murmur, crowd bed] Bottle of water by the boards for the patter Raw-throated roar while the whole hall chatters Last bow low, brass blown flatter Sleep takes the singer where glass dreams shatter [Verse 1 — clipped patter-rap, ticking percussion, pizz strings, low brass swells] Palm-glass apparitions glitter in exhibition Masked-class supplicants scramble for recognition Bright-pane congregations beg for validation Public adoration breeds private isolation Gaslight, glass sight, faces in formation Fast-flash fascination, staged self-creation Each framed presentation pleads interpretation All that illumination deepens desolation Tin-bell signals twitch beneath the waistcoat Thin-lipped pilgrims drift wherever praise floats Prim-grin mimicry, polished stage notes Every starving spirit sells a shinier pose Court glare, caught prayer, favour as ration Poor man, lord man, both in supplication Name made, fame paid, traded for reaction Seen by the multitude, starved of recognition [Pre-Chorus — strings widen, choir haze, toms rise, breath catches] I saw a grand age dressed in bright connection Glass-fed hearts in public introspection Everyone displayed for mass inspection No one held in true affection [Chorus — big dark drums, gang doubles, brass lift, octave ghosting] Behold me, behold me — still unbeheld Crowned by attention, exiled in myself Rich with recognition, famished where I dwell Loud in the multitude, lonely as hell Behold me, behold me — still unbeheld Praised by the gallery, lost in myself They worship the mask, not the wound underneath They count every face, never answer its need [Verse 2 — drier lead, faster flow, clock ticks, brass stabs, tighter snare] Blind-clerk algorithm clicks through calculation Click-clack tallying appetite and adoration Ranks each revelation, sells back imitation Turns a human ache into public decoration Pocket-glass parliament, every soul campaigning Begging for a witness while the bright panes drain him Laughing for approval, aching while entertaining Winning every gaze, still privately waning Supplication, validation, bright solicitation Desperation wearing charm for presentation Celebration swelling into self-erasure Everybody noticed, nobody held in relation Bottle of water by the boards, breath bartered raw Patter batters rafters, jaw after jaw Laughter fattens louder, footlights ask for more The more I give voice, the less they see what for [Instrumental — warped music-hall piano, bowed bass, brass band fragments, harpsichord flickers, toms, scratches, reverse swells, choir shadows, sudden dropouts, crowd murmur turning mechanical. Add cracked gramophone choir, boot-stomp syncopation, bowed saw whine, sub-bass pulse, reverse cymbal pulls, call-response crowd chants, glitch cuts, and one hard silence before the final rap.] [Bridge — drums drop, close vocal, cello, room echo, slow build] What use is applause if it never draws near? What use is a crowd if it cannot hear? What use is a name passed from ear unto ear If the man underneath must disappear? What use is the glass if it gives back a guise? What use are the tallies when fellowship dies? What use are a thousand electric replies If nobody answers the ache when it cries? No hand in the clamour, no heart in the cheer All eyes in attendance, not one drawing near [Final Rap — fastest patter, hard snare, rolling toms, brass hits, scratches, ghost doubles] Glass-face masquerade, mass-made exhibition Class-clash pageantry, polished competition Fast-flash flattery, hunger for position All that recognition curdles into isolation Palm-pane prophets in a bright procession Self-made saints in a staged confession Each revelation begs for fresh impression Every open wound becomes a public possession Signal, spectacle, sermon, solicitation Manners over panic, charm over starvation Fame as medication, praise as sedation Still the inner man starves beneath ovation Ticker-tape favour, tally-man treasure Pleasure made pressure, measure after measure Crowd gives attention, never gives shelter Known beyond measure, unknown under pressure Bottle of water, raw jaw, breath breaking Boards shake, brass aches, bright hall quaking Crowd calls closer, still no one takes him They praise the apparition, never reach the aching man [Final Chorus — maximum lift, full drums, choir shadows, gang echoes, brass bloom] Behold me, behold me — still unbeheld Crowned by attention, exiled in myself Rich with recognition, famished where I dwell Loud in the multitude, lonely as hell Behold me, behold me — still unbeheld Praised by the gallery, lost in myself They worship the mask, not the wound underneath They count every face, never answer its need [Outro — close mic, piano fading, distant brass, room noise, final ghost double] Bottle of water Boards getting colder Crowd getting louder No one comes closer Behold me Behold me Still unbeheld
