Things Get Moved

Trap, high light female spoken-rap in a London accent, close dry lead with brief dub-delay throws and roomy, unprocessed stacked hook harmonies; deep sliding 808 bass, crisp ticking hi-hats, clipped snare, dark restrained synth accents; sparse punchy modern mix, heavier hook low end and stripped reflective bridge; urgent sparse half-time groove

[Verse 1]
Tuesday: Ines's lettuce turned in the night, away from its lamp, towards the window and the dark.
Wednesday: the dust outside the airlock was swept in perfect circles, like a skater's marks.
Thursday: your photo by my bunk had turned to face the window glass,
like someone lifted it to show you the stars, then set it down, and let the moment pass.
Boss says it's static. Or vibration. Or one of us sleepwalking. He's written a report.
Tomás says it's ghosts. Ines says it's polite. I think she's right. It's the polite sort.

[Hook | urgent, building]
Something's moving things. Something's moving things.
Slowly, gently, carefully, the way you'd tidy up a room for guests.
Something's moving things. Something's moving things.
And everything it touches, it leaves a little better than it was. I guess.

[Verse 2]
I tried something last night. I put a spoon on the table, and I said out loud, "Hello."
Then I went to bed. My heart was going like a drum. I kept my eyes shut. Slow.
In the morning, the spoon was still there. Nothing moved. I felt silly. I made tea.
Then I saw the sugar. Someone had arranged the grains into a spiral. A tiny galaxy.
And beside it, in the dust on the table, one small line. Like a wave. Like "hi".
Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe I did it in my sleep. I keep telling myself. I don't know why.

[Bridge | slower, softer]
I didn't tell Boss about the spiral. I wiped it off before the others woke.
But I drew it for you. It's in my notebook. It's the most beautiful thing I've seen. And it's not a joke.

[Hook]
Something's moving things. Something's moving things.
Slowly, gently, carefully, the way you'd tidy up a room for guests.
Something's moving things. Something's moving things.
And everything it touches, it leaves a little better than it was. I guess.

[Outro | quiet, spoken]
That's log two.
If you find your toys have moved tonight,
it wasn't me. Probably.

2115/7500

[Intro | spoken, sparse, close] Log two... Hi Lou. Up here, things fall slowly. A dropped spoon takes its time. But this week, some things have moved that nobody touched. I've checked the logs. Each line. [Verse 1] Tuesday: Ines's lettuce turned in the night, away from its lamp, towards the window and the dark. Wednesday: the dust outside the airlock was swept in perfect circles, like a skater's marks. Thursday: your photo by my bunk had turned to face the window glass, like someone lifted it to show you the stars, then set it down, and let the moment pass. Boss says it's static. Or vibration. Or one of us sleepwalking. He's written a report. Tomás says it's ghosts. Ines says it's polite. I think she's right. It's the polite sort. [Hook | urgent, building] Something's moving things. Something's moving things. Slowly, gently, carefully, the way you'd tidy up a room for guests. Something's moving things. Something's moving things. And everything it touches, it leaves a little better than it was. I guess. [Verse 2] I tried something last night. I put a spoon on the table, and I said out loud, "Hello." Then I went to bed. My heart was going like a drum. I kept my eyes shut. Slow. In the morning, the spoon was still there. Nothing moved. I felt silly. I made tea. Then I saw the sugar. Someone had arranged the grains into a spiral. A tiny galaxy. And beside it, in the dust on the table, one small line. Like a wave. Like "hi". Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe I did it in my sleep. I keep telling myself. I don't know why. [Bridge | slower, softer] I didn't tell Boss about the spiral. I wiped it off before the others woke. But I drew it for you. It's in my notebook. It's the most beautiful thing I've seen. And it's not a joke. [Hook] Something's moving things. Something's moving things. Slowly, gently, carefully, the way you'd tidy up a room for guests. Something's moving things. Something's moving things. And everything it touches, it leaves a little better than it was. I guess. [Outro | quiet, spoken] That's log two. If you find your toys have moved tonight, it wasn't me. Probably.

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