[genre: anxious post-industrial trip-hop] [mood: tense, contemptuous, resigned] [dynamics: controlled, stark contrast, sudden loudness] [instruments: sub-harmonic bass, reedy electric guitar, gated percussion] [tension vocal-style: deadpanned, clipped, strained] [tempo: 88 bpm, syncopated, off-kilter] [theme: compromise, lost ambition, material failure] [intro] [music: sparse percussion, dissonant guitar chord] [tension vocals: monotone, gravelly] The gauge-line is drawn, but the hand is slack. The low face calls, I do not look back. [verse 1] [music: sub-harmonic bass entry, rhythm tightens] [tension vocals: contemptuous, clipped] You are rig-hands now, just turning the wheel. You choose the skimp-cut, the slickest way to yield. You make soft yield for the market, pale and weak. A layer of chalk-bitter on the only thing you speak. [chorus] [music: high-frequency guitar motif enters, slight dissonant wash, melodic appoggiatura] [tension vocals: declarative, strained] You can scribe the line, but can't take the shear. The heavy slab will wait a thousand years. The shear is just a scrape, the slab is fear. Sling is locked, but the rig is grit-shy here. [verse 2] [music: texture slightly warmer, emphasis on somber bass] [tension vocals: subdued, speaking-to-self] Once I had the heave, the raw, stiff pull. Now I just have the slump, a shallow reprieve. We all knew the stone's gravity. Who can lift a mass, if the lever feels too slight? [chorus] [music: high-frequency guitar becomes dissonant and sharper, harmonic trigger] [tension vocals: insistent, clipped] You can scribe the line, but can't take the shear. The heavy slab will wait another year. The shear is just a scrape, the slab is fear. Sling is locked, but the rig is grit-shy here. [bridge] [music: tempo slows subtly, bass monotone, vocal loop fx] [tension vocals: deadpanned, analytical] They trade fume-eater small-talk all around. They use feather-and-wedge on the smooth, worn ground. They love the slick tracks that grant a soft release. One rubs a neighbor for ozone-tang, not for friction. Bench duty is their only creed. The low face is all that we have left to scorn. [chorus] [music: drums drop to a single slow kick, massive reverb wash, sudden softness] [tension vocals: high sustained note, rupturing, plaintive, vocal register leap] You can scribe the line, but can't take the shear. The skimp-cut slab will wait a thousand tears. The shear is just a scrape, the slab is fear. Sling is locked, but the rig is grit-shy here. [outro] [music: sustained guitar tone fades out] [tension vocals: whisper-crackle, final resignation] The low face is all you get. The low face is the end of the line. A skimp-cut tear on a dry, arid track.
