[TECH TASK: Female vocal, minor key, hypno-ambient + chill/lo-fi electronica, melodic but hypnotic, gentle drums, meditative tempo. Include instrumental breaks with light vocalizations between choruses, pre-chorus, and final chorus. Use pads, airy FX, reverb. Keep space for atmosphere, vocal clarity prioritized. Avoid literal stage directions.] [Intro — instrumental ambient pad with light rhythmic texture, ~15 sec] Chorus The dead houses have mouths full of sand Tiny red and mottled pebbles They pour and gather in the cellar-bellies A rib of ruin cuts the sky It crumbles and smokes with a whitish light Above, with a short-lived thread threaded into a needle He sews my time Counting stitches to a hundred [Instrumental break — pads + soft percussive clicks, light vocal hums, ~20 sec] Verse 1 In the evening my house does not recognize me by face Dark and fat, in its insatiable belly, full of residents For what am I to it? To be like an appendix? To scratch and to prick in the little room below? Pipes gurgle, the flesh feels thick There were neighbors and then none. But they, like a Phoenix, Will be reborn again with gurgling from the wall Unseen by me, yet same through it all Like shadows… [Instrumental break — airy pad + soft percussive textures, ~15 sec] Verse 2 The appendix festers, not at once, not in a moment Little by little, for years I do not keep a diary of laments So as not to notice how endlessly A sunbeam tries to pierce the window and the door The layer where people met has hardened sore As in meat, hardened lies a dulled needle Everything will heal, and time will sew the edges I will become surplus to the house, yet pledged And what’s the use? [Instrumental break — pads + soft percussive clicks + vocal hums, ~20 sec] Verse 3 Four walls — four sheets of paper thick They will endure everything, including me With dust and laziness, with a smile on my lips The sun fell asleep in the corner, leaving an autumn dance Today our benchmark is close to the horizon — congealing To the window, to the shadow thrown on the floor from the ceiling To the night, where the cobweb caresses the legs of the writing desk Where months stride from corner to corner, out of breath And die, no chance [Pre-Chorus — pads + soft vocalization “mmm”, ~15 sec] Yesterday creeps up to the throat, It seizes like a river afloat. Along the winding paths float splinters of a broken tongue, And strike the splinters on a wooden head, all along. [Chorus — final, airy pads + light vocalization “ahhh” fading into outro] The dead houses have mouths full of sand Tiny red and mottled pebbles They pour and gather in the cellar-bellies A rib of ruin cuts the sky It crumbles and smokes with a whitish light Above, with a short-lived thread threaded into a needle He sews my time Counting stitches to a hundred [Outro — fading pads, soft ambient drones, ~15 sec]
