[Intro] (Vinyl crackle hums over a low sub-bass drone) (A lone, clean acoustic guitar picks a slow, minor-key melody) (Static fuzz kicks in as a television screen flickers in the dark) (A creepy, innocent 5-year-old girl's voice, speaking in a slow, eerie whisper. The audio is heavily distorted with vintage 1980s television static, white noise, and a metallic CRT TV hum. High-pitched, haunting, with a slight echo and radio interference effect. Ghostly, cinematic horror sound effect. "Mommy! They're here...") (Heavy 808 bass drops hard with a dragging, slow Memphis trap rhythm) (Evil, weeping pedal steel slide cuts through the beat) [Verse 1] The static is humming on the midnight screen A white noise ghost that you ain't ever seen Built this whole neighborhood on top of the dead Left the bones in the dirt, took the headstones instead Little girl's talking to the empty air Standing all alone by the television chair The room turns freezing, the floorboards shake Something in the closet is fixing to wake [Chorus] (Beat drops out to a distorted chicken-scratch banjo fill) They’re pulling from the static, they’re crawling from the wall You can hear 'em in the hallway, hear 'em when they call The TV is bleeding, the graveyard is wide And there ain't no place left for a sinner to hide Yeah, they’re here... beneath the California mud And the roots of the willow tree are drinking the blood [Verse 2] (Booming 808s and dragging trap drums slam back in) (Sinister dark synth line weaves under a raucous country twang delivery) The toy clown is watching with a plastic grin The tree outside is trying to claw its way in A vortex is spinning in the ceiling sheet The house is alive, and it’s hungry for meat Ropes in the dark pulling down to the pit You can pray to the Lord but He don't hear a bit The medium is chanting, the light is turning red Go into the brightness, or join with the dead [Chorus] They’re pulling from the static, they’re crawling from the wall You can hear 'em in the hallway, hear 'em when they call The TV is bleeding, the graveyard is wide And there ain't no place left for a sinner to hide Yeah, they’re here... beneath the California mud And the roots of the willow tree are drinking the blood [Terrifying Cinematic Breakdown] (The trap drums completely vanish, leaving a reverse piano echo) (Eerie banjo groove slows down, dripping with heavy delay) (Bone-rattling sub-bass drones swell as cinematic rises build tension) (Clattering, skeletal sound effects mimic bones knocking behind the walls) (A distorted, demonic voice laughs low in the mix) (Massive, sudden bass drop slams the dragging Memphis rhythm back to life) [Outro] (The beat stretches out, getting slower and heavier) (Weeping pedal steel guitar rings out a final, unresolved half-step modulation) The foundation is breaking, the walls cave in Imploding to the dark where the ghosts have been Nothing but a blank lot under the stars And the static still screaming on the cable bars... (Radio static cuts the music completely) (Faint, echoing television snow fades into silence)
