Ferry Hold

Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, 158 BPM ferry-deck rock, racing kick, trash snare, jagged guitars, thick bass, mortaring loud hooks, ‑indie, ‑soft, ‑gentle, ‑sleepy, ‑lullaby, ‑whisper, ‑industrial, ‑trap hi-hat rolls, ‑drill, ‑choir, ‑gang shouts, ‑crowd chants, ‑Soft Fire, ‑lo-fi, ‑brass, ‑ballad, ‑piano, ‑organ, ‑keyboards, ‑metal, ‑slide guitar, ‑808, ‑sub bass, ‑handclaps, ‑cowbell, ‑punk, ‑country, ‑twang, ‑opera, ‑gospel, ‑funk, ‑ska, ‑horror, ‑Halloween, ‑generic rap voice, ‑crooning, ‑crooner, ‑breathy, ‑high light vocal, ‑talk-sing, ‑hushed, ‑legato, ‑silky, ‑smooth, ‑half-spoken, ‑close-mic, ‑spoken, ‑spoken word, ‑mumble, ‑mumble rap, ‑whispered, ‑laid-back, ‑low-energy, ‑thin vocal, ‑auto-tune, ‑dubstep, ‑EDM drop, ‑R&B, ‑emo, ‑reggaeton, ‑strings, ‑warm mid-range male vocal, ‑female vocals, ‑generic pop vocal

[Hook: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, loud, mortaring]
Gate holds until your boots land clean
Not a speech, a shoulder and a count between
Latch can wait, the tide can curse the scene
Board the deck, then let the metal intervene

[Verse 2: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, mortaring, harder]
Knees complain, the hinge complains louder
Captain hits the bell like a disappointed boss
I do not answer horns, I answer running feet
Jagged guitars under me like weather finding beat
Racing kick, trash snare, salt across the teeth
I was hired for the rope work and the grief beneath
Ferry Hold is not a title, it is a minute spent
Body as a doorstop so a late life can invent
Salt in my eyes, the hinge complaining like a knee
I brace harder so the late boots get a path to free

[Verse 3: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, gangway thud, mortaring]
Gangway thud, boots clear, I step off the frame
Latch bites home like it was never out of game
Rider nods once, already hunting for a rail
I spit salt, shake the shoulder, back to normal scale
No thank-you speech, no camera for the deed
Just a deck that leaves on time with one more need
Mortaring the moment into muscle I can trust
Hard song for a job that never asked for fuss

[Bridge: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, loud, mortaring]
Brace the gate, shout the count
Let them board, then get out
Gangway thud, latch bites
Tide can have its rights

[Outro: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, breath hard, jagged guitars ring out and fade]
Gangway thud, still ringing
Tell the deck we keep singing

[End]

2274/7500

[Verse 1: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, mortaring, raw] Captain wants the lines, tide says we leave now One figure sprinting down the pier somehow I dig my boots, shoulder in the gate's cold frame Count out loud so the rider hears my name Wind eats the vowels, so I push them harder still Mortaring breath into a job that will not chill Deck crew watches, nobody calls it brave They call it what you do when a stranger needs the wave [Hook: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, loud, mortaring] Gate holds until your boots land clean Not a speech, a shoulder and a count between Latch can wait, the tide can curse the scene Board the deck, then let the metal intervene [Verse 2: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, mortaring, harder] Knees complain, the hinge complains louder Captain hits the bell like a disappointed boss I do not answer horns, I answer running feet Jagged guitars under me like weather finding beat Racing kick, trash snare, salt across the teeth I was hired for the rope work and the grief beneath Ferry Hold is not a title, it is a minute spent Body as a doorstop so a late life can invent Salt in my eyes, the hinge complaining like a knee I brace harder so the late boots get a path to free [Verse 3: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, gangway thud, mortaring] Gangway thud, boots clear, I step off the frame Latch bites home like it was never out of game Rider nods once, already hunting for a rail I spit salt, shake the shoulder, back to normal scale No thank-you speech, no camera for the deed Just a deck that leaves on time with one more need Mortaring the moment into muscle I can trust Hard song for a job that never asked for fuss [Bridge: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, loud, mortaring] Brace the gate, shout the count Let them board, then get out Gangway thud, latch bites Tide can have its rights [Hook: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, loud, mortaring] Gate holds until your boots land clean Not a speech, a shoulder and a count between Latch can wait, the tide can curse the scene Board the deck, then let the metal intervene [Outro: Mortaring flare-throat male rock singer, breath hard, jagged guitars ring out and fade] Gangway thud, still ringing Tell the deck we keep singing [End]

0/500