[Intro: distant wind, vinyl crackle, broken music box, slow eerie build] [Motif: detuned music box lead, childlike but unsettling melody] [Distant, warped calliope music] Step behind the rusted curtain. The oil is thick upon the tracks. Dr. Alistair Thorne welcomes the hollowed and the broken. The tickets are printed on dead skin. The carousel turns against the sun. [Build: soft percussion, subtle bass pulse, ambient circus textures] Don’t look at the horses. Their eyes are human. [Drop 1: heavy beat enters, distorted calliope lead, deep bass, rhythmic hits] Welcome to the grinding wheel. Where the laughter tastes like iron. The neon flickers in your veins. We are the grease. We are the gears. Nothing is reclaimed. The hall of mirrors shows the exit you missed ten years ago. The cotton candy is spun from insulation and attic dust. The clown isn’t wearing a mask. The clown is missing a face. [Break: silence, distant laughter, reversed sounds, piano notes isolated] [Build 2: strings rising, tension, layered percussion, darker tone] Thump. Thump. The weight of the sky is lowering. [Drop 2: full energy, aggressive drums, distorted melody, choir pads] Dr. Thorne is counting the teeth in the jar. One for the entry. Two for the exit. None for the soul. [Bridge: minimal piano, ambient drones, slow haunting atmosphere] The ferris wheel stops at the apex. The bolts are screaming. Below, the mud is hungry. There are no prizes on the top shelf, only jars of stagnant water and old memories. [Final Drop: cinematic explosion, all elements combined, intense and dramatic] Welcome to the grinding wheel. Where the laughter tastes like iron. The neon flickers in your veins. We are the grease. We are the gears. Nothing is reclaimed. The carnival stays. You are the fuel now. [Outro: music box slowing down, tape stop, fading vinyl noise]
