Flare Chain

Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, 152 BPM ridge-signal rock, piston kick, tight snare, stacked guitars, thick bass, catapulting 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 female vocal, ‑male vocals, ‑generic pop vocal

[Hook: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, loud, catapulting, belted]
My wick catches so their ridge can see
Not a speech, a timing they can trust in me
Light the cup, cup the flame, send the next one free
Chain holds only if the middle link agrees

[Verse 2: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, catapulting, harder]
Uphill wick gutters out before it clears the crest
I wait a count of eight and feel the dark protest
No spare runner coming, no headset to beg
Only muscle memory and a song inside my leg
I sing the handoff numbers like a rope thrown down
Downhill hears the meter even when they lack the crown
Catapulting breath into a night that wants to stall
Craft is not a sermon when the weather eats the call

[Verse 3: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, wick catch, catapulting]
Match head scrapes, wick catch pops against the gust
Guitars stack under me like timber finding trust
I never see downhill answer, only feel the shift
Boots start moving somewhere past the granite rift
My job ends at the glow I leave upon the stone
Somebody else will curse this wind and call it home
Ridge signal chain does not need my name in lights
It needs a woman who can count through broken nights

[Bridge: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, loud, catapulting, belted]
Cup the flame, count the eight
Send it on, do not wait
Wick catch, wind loses
Middle link refuses

[Outro: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, breath hard, stacked guitars ring out and fade]
Wick catch, still glowing
Tell the ridge we keep going

[End]

2307/7500

[Verse 1: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, catapulting, belted] Ridge path cut narrow with a wind that steals the flame I carry oil and matches and a list of every name Uphill lights the first wick, I catch and pass it on Downhill waits on my glow before they move at dawn Boots on loose shale, lungs full of cold and smoke Headset dead for hours, so the voice becomes the yoke I do not own the mountain, I own the middle span If my station blanks out, the whole chain loses plan [Hook: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, loud, catapulting, belted] My wick catches so their ridge can see Not a speech, a timing they can trust in me Light the cup, cup the flame, send the next one free Chain holds only if the middle link agrees [Verse 2: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, catapulting, harder] Uphill wick gutters out before it clears the crest I wait a count of eight and feel the dark protest No spare runner coming, no headset to beg Only muscle memory and a song inside my leg I sing the handoff numbers like a rope thrown down Downhill hears the meter even when they lack the crown Catapulting breath into a night that wants to stall Craft is not a sermon when the weather eats the call [Verse 3: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, wick catch, catapulting] Match head scrapes, wick catch pops against the gust Guitars stack under me like timber finding trust I never see downhill answer, only feel the shift Boots start moving somewhere past the granite rift My job ends at the glow I leave upon the stone Somebody else will curse this wind and call it home Ridge signal chain does not need my name in lights It needs a woman who can count through broken nights [Bridge: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, loud, catapulting, belted] Cup the flame, count the eight Send it on, do not wait Wick catch, wind loses Middle link refuses [Hook: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, loud, catapulting, belted] My wick catches so their ridge can see Not a speech, a timing they can trust in me Light the cup, cup the flame, send the next one free Chain holds only if the middle link agrees [Outro: Catapulting kiln-lunged female rock singer, breath hard, stacked guitars ring out and fade] Wick catch, still glowing Tell the ridge we keep going [End]

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