[Spoken Word] [News anchor, calm, deep male voice, speaking, not singing] It's ten p.m. Do you know where your children are? [Female, smooth, hushed, flat, deadpan, spoken] No... and neither did you. [Intro: mechanical drum loop fades in, distorted synth bass pulse] [Verse 1: machine drum loop and synth bass only, Male, low, hushed, menacing, half-buried] Key on a shoelace, second heart Let myself in, and the TV played the part Mom lied on the census, "supervised" Dad came on weekends with his alibis Stranger on the carton at the table Real danger was the quiet with no label Watched the Bomb in Kansas on a Sunday night Nobody turned it off, nobody turned on the light [Pre-Chorus: noise swelling, drums tightening, Male, rising, tense] Nobody's coming Nobody called Hum of the static Through the walls [Chorus: crushing guitar wall, pounding industrial drums, Male, screamed, raw, chanted] WHAT-EV-ER~ WHAT-EV-ER~ Key on a string and a TV glow WHAT-EV-ER~ Nobody asked, so nobody knows WHAT-EV-ER~ [Instrumental Break: four-bar industrial stab, distorted synth bass hits, machine drum fill, feedback squeal, no vocals] [Verse 2: machine drum loop and synth bass only, Male, low, hushed, sneering] Breathed your leaded air, cost me five-point-nine Left the engine running, said the numbers were fine Cover said no heroes, handed me a paper hat Called the drive-thru a career, and I settled for that [Chorus: crushing guitar wall, pounding industrial drums, Male, screamed, raw, chanted] WHAT-EV-ER~ WHAT-EV-ER~ Said we had no anthems, so we stole the show WHAT-EV-ER~ Twenty-seven candles, and the wind still blows WHAT-EV-ER~ [Instrumental Break: four-bar industrial stab, distorted synth bass hits, machine drum fill, feedback squeal, no vocals] [Verse 3: grinding loop, heavier synth bass, Male, low, bitter, menacing] Swore we'd never sell out, then the options came through Nasdaq dropped seventy-eight percent, and the beanbag came too Bought the house in oh-six at the top of the boom Lost forty-five percent before we painted the baby's room Walked me out at fifty-two, said they're looking for hunger Spent two weeks training someone twenty-five years younger [Chorus: crushing guitar wall, pounding industrial drums, Male, screamed, raw, chanted] WHAT-EV-ER~ WHAT-EV-ER~ Mom's on the phone and the kid's in tow WHAT-EV-ER~ Meat in the middle with nowhere to go WHAT-EV-ER~ [Instrumental Break: four-bar industrial stab, distorted synth bass hits, machine drum fill, feedback squeal, no vocals] . [Bridge: everything drops, lone synth drone and soft pulse, Male, hushed, cracked] Grandpa hid beneath the desk when the siren split the sky Seventh grade, I laid my head on it and watched a teacher fly Now my kid hides in the coat room, crouching low and holding still Every generation gets a desk and a different drill Couldn't get a foothold, so the cradle sat and waited Had my kids a generation late, and the world was already traded Seventy-nine, a million of us split up by a judge's pen So we waited and we stayed, so our kids won't go through that again [Instrumental Break: industrial noise breakdown, grinding machine drums, distorted synth bass stabs, screeching feedback, crushing guitar wall, no vocals] . [Breakdown: synth bass, 808 rumble and machine drums only, building] [Male, spoken, flat] Left us off the chart in twenty-nineteen Seventy-nine headlines, and the millennials got the screen Went from sixty-four to eighty-four for the second chair Twenty years of birthdays, and nobody was there [Male, young, sad weary tenor] Wait... did we skip somebody? [Male, hushed, flat, deadpan] ...whatever. [Final Chorus: full industrial assault, crushing guitars, Male, screamed, cracking, chanted] WHAT-EV-ER~ WHAT-EV-ER~ Sixty-seven in thirty-two, and the fund runs low WHAT-EV-ER~ Seventy-eight cents for a gold-watch show WHAT-EV-ER~ [Instrumental: long industrial build, starts with lone mechanical drum loop and distorted synth bass, layers of grinding noise and metallic clangs slowly stacking, crushing detuned guitar wall crashes in halfway, screeching feedback, relentless and claustrophobic, no vocals] . . [Outro: machines winding down, lone synth drone, Male, tired, hushed] Old man froze up at the podium, death grip on the mic Thought he'd finally hand it down to us... [Male, spoken, flat] Psych. [Male, hushed, soft] Nobody's home... so we let ourselves in~ [Instrumental Break: four-bar industrial stab, distorted synth bass hits, machine drum fill, feedback squeal, no vocals] . [Male, spoken, flat] ...whatever. [Drone cuts out] [End]
