[Intro] Made berth at Occidental Ridge. The jagged spine of the world, a trader’s final bridge. Came for distilled water and a gyroscope part, Ready to haggle, to play a lone hand from the start. The stories they tell of the goblins are thick, All claws and curses, and every third word is a trick. They crowd the platforms with cogs and with scrap, Setting a well-polished, commercialized trap. [Pre-Chorus: female] [Style: Music builds with a low, driving synth bass, vocals become more focused and rhythmic] But one wasn't haggling for wires or for steel, He was watching my airship, his interest was real. Long-fingered, green-knuckled, a name-tag read "Vic," He looked past the ballast, beyond every brick. He said, "That's a fine boiler, a soul in the flue... "But a soul's gotta travel, now, ain't that the truth?" [Chorus: female] [Style: Explodes into a soaring, indie-pop anthem with driving drums and layered, euphoric synths. Wren's vocals are powerful and clear.] So much for the stories the ground-hogs all spin, About the monsters without and the virtue within. Now I'm redrafting my charts on the fly, With a goblin co-pilot beneath a bronze sky. We're two oddities in flight, a peculiar new crew, Chasing after a legend that might just be true. [Verse 2: male] [Style: Shifts abruptly. Beat drops to a lo-fi, trap-inspired rhythm with a deep, earthy 808. Victor's vocals are a rhythmic, clever mumble rap, think of the unique flow of a non-mainstream artist like slowthai. His voice is gravelly but charismatic.] [heh] Log Entry... nah, scrap that. Just a thought. Saw her rig, that trim, knew what she sought. Other guys dealin' in trinkets and junk, I'm lookin' for mushrooms that grow in a trunk Of a petrified sky-beast, a genuine prize, You don't get that kinda thing by believin' in lies. (click, click) Forget the gems, the predictable gleam, I wanna taste water from a stratospheric stream. Heard the sky-krakens sing a low-down tune, Underneath the weird fracture in the secondary moon. Saw your ship, Captain, knew you were thinkin' big, Gotta respect a woman who pilots her own rig. Yeah. [Chorus: female] [Style: Returns to the soaring, indie-pop anthem, but this time with Victor's ad-libs ("Yeah," "Let's go") sprinkled throughout.] So much for the stories the ground-hogs all spin, About the monsters without and the virtue within! Now I'm redrafting my charts on the fly, With a goblin co-pilot beneath a bronze sky. We're two oddities in flight, a peculiar new crew, Chasing after a legend that might just be true! [Bridge: female] [Style: Music softens to just shimmering synth pads and a heartbeat kick drum. Wren's vocals are intimate, almost confessional.] My solitary vow, my charter for just one, Feels like a lifetime ago, a race already won. The manifest is changing, the heading's rearranged. He’s cleaning off a tele-lens, and nothing feels… strange. He points with a long nail at a smudge on the glass, Says, "That's the Quiet Storm. We should probably go fast." And for the first time in ages, my answer is "we." There's a fire in his eyes that reminds me of me. [Outro] [Style: The sound of a powerful engine firing up, wind rushing. Wren's voice is clear, layered with radio effects.] Log Entry: Cycle 3.5. Amended. Crew: Two. Destination: Pending.
