THE CROWDED QUIET [Verse 1] Plenty sits next to ration in the same hour. A table can groan and a mouth can still go dry. Signals arrive from every meridian and no one is actually here. The calendar is dense. The day is thin. Speed has never been so proud of itself and arrival has never been this late. [Chorus] This is the crowded quiet. More reach, less contact. More surplus, less appetite. More mirrors, less witness. The present tense is loud and almost vacant. This is the crowded quiet. [Verse 2] The aisle never ends. Every craving has a replica on the shelf. Calories of choice pile past the last shelf. Satisfaction thins. A person can be located to the meter and still be missing in plain light. Mirrors multiply until the face becomes a copy of glass. The body is asked to be a switchboard and then blamed for the static. [Chorus] This is the crowded quiet. More reach, less contact. More surplus, less appetite. More mirrors, less witness. The present tense is loud and almost vacant. This is the crowded quiet. [Verse 3] Shit, the archive never sleeps and still forgets the one sentence that mattered. Knowledge stacks to the ceiling. Wisdom waits in the hall. A thousand routes and the same wrong turn. A ballot of tabs opens at dawn. Each option is harmless. Together they freeze the hour. [Chorus] This is the crowded quiet. More reach, less contact. More surplus, less appetite. More mirrors, less witness. The present tense is loud and almost vacant. This is the crowded quiet. [Verse 4] God is cited in the feed. God is absent from the deal. Every creed has a comment section. Every hunger has a storefront. Choice multiplies until choosing is a kind of freeze. The market is open all night. The kitchen is closed. [Chorus] This is the crowded quiet. More reach, less contact. More surplus, less appetite. More mirrors, less witness. The present tense is loud and almost vacant. This is the crowded quiet. [Bridge] Fuck the flattering myth that surplus is the same as enough. A warehouse of answers is not a mind. A crowd of watchers is not a witness. Safety can be loud and still be thin. Freedom can be infinite and still feel rented. The metric climbs. The pulse does not. That is not a mood. That is the ledger. [Chorus] This is the crowded quiet. More reach, less contact. More surplus, less appetite. More mirrors, less witness. The present tense is loud and almost vacant. This is the crowded quiet. [Verse 5] Attention is spent like coin and bought back at a loss. The news is constant. Care is requested for every distant fire until care goes numb on purpose. Longevity sits beside exhaustion and neither one will vacate the chair. [Final Chorus] This is the crowded quiet. More reach, less contact. More surplus, less appetite. More mirrors, less witness. The present tense is loud and almost vacant. This is the crowded quiet. The quiet is crowded. The crowded is quiet. That is the whole report.
