[Lyrics] [Intro] (A sharp intake of breath) [Verse 1] [vocals: flat, conversational, urgent] [instruments: dry drum machine, staccato bassline, sparse angular guitar notes] Quarter past nine, the directive drops All the pens start to move and the talking stops For a look at the work, for the spectacle's sake For the terrible risk that the new masters take We shuffle in place, under cold, humming light Just a spot on the floor, washed in clinical white [Pre-Chorus] [vocals: rising in pitch, strained] [instruments: syncopated hi-hats enter, dissonant synth pad swells] And the foreman, he asks us if we understand The genius required, the nerve of the plan My mouth goes so dry and my vision gets thin Everyone's watching, the viewing begins [Chorus] [vocals: layered, nasal, frantic] [instruments: hypnotic dance-punk groove, driving melodic bass, catchy angular guitar hook] Oh, the clean violence, the defiant grace! (Such a theory! Such a space!) Such a texture, a tone beyond words (We're believers, have you heard?) A remarkable piece, it's a credit to see And it's perfectly clear... to everyone but me [Verse 2] [vocals: breathless, rapid-fire] [instruments: verse texture with a more insistent synth pad] The guy to my left is just losing his mind Talking 'bout textures I'm failing to find And I just keep smiling, my jaw starts to ache For the first little crack, for the silent mistake If my face gives it up, if I show any doubt They will see I'm unfit, and they'll throw me out [Pre-Chorus] [vocals: rising in pitch, more pained] [instruments: syncopated hi-hats enter, dissonant synth pad swells higher] And the foreman, he's watching us, holding his breath To see who's a failure, who's courting their death My pulse is a hammer, my vision goes dim I just copy the praises I'm hearing from him [Chorus] [vocals: layered, nasal, more desperate and frantic] [instruments: hypnotic dance-punk groove, driving melodic bass, catchy angular guitar hook] Oh, the clean violence, the defiant grace! (Such a theory! Such a space!) Such a texture, a tone beyond words (We're believers, have you heard?) A remarkable piece, it's a credit to see And it's perfectly clear... to everyone but me [Bridge] [vocals: a child's voice, unfiltered, close-mic'd, devoid of context] [production: sudden drop to a humming synth pad and sub-bass drone] (But... there's nothing here) [production: sound of a mic stand knock, sharp feedback] (There is nothing here) [Guitar Solo] [instruments: atonal guitar feedback and scrapes over a glitching, stuttering drum machine] [production: chaotic and jarring instrumental breakdown] [Chorus] [vocals: deadpan, drained, speaking on pitch] [instruments: broken beat, isolated bassline, amp hum] Oh... the clean violence... the defiant grace... (Such a theory... such a space...) Such a texture... a tone... beyond words... (We're believers... haven't you heard...) [Outro] [instruments: bassline repeats and fades to silence, leaving only amp hum] It's clear... to everyone... [production: final click of the drum machine turning off]
