(Style: Heavy lo-fi dub hop, subterranean sub-bass, moody tape-delay skank guitar, dark melodica, and cynical, deadpan Gorillaz-style vocals) (Intro - Sound of a creaking closet door, sliding wooden hangers, and a heavy vinyl crackle. A slow, dragging hip-hop drumbeat drops into a thumping, resonant sub-bassline) "Yeah... walk-in closet... Designer labels covering up the rot... Franky Windmills..." [Verse 1 - Fast, cynical deadpan delivery over a lagging, heavy dub-hiphop beat] Bought a three-thousand-dollar jacket just to hide the spine Hanging on a gold hanger, looking real fine Opened up the closet door to grab my daily wear Found a six-foot skeleton sitting in a chair Wearing vintage Gucci, looking way more cool than me Asking if I’m satisfied with my identity I said "Listen here, bones, you’re supposed to stay hidden Behind the winter coats and the things that are forbidden!" He tapped his bony feet, gave a rattling grin Said "You can change the outfit, but you can't change the skin!" [Chorus - Floating, spacey chorus with rich dub reverb and layered lazy vocals] Got skeletons in the walk-in closet, dressed in silk Trying to cover up the rotten milk Tag is still attached, but the spirit is sold Hiding all the secrets in the dark and the cold Yeah, pile up the laundry, shut the wooden door... Same old bone collector living on the second floor... [Verse 2 - Sharper, witty flow with subtle dub-delay and heavy rimshots] Social media profile glowing in the dark Showing off a lifestyle hit right on the mark Posing in the hallway with a fake bright smile While the closet's overflowing with a toxic pile Got a regret skeleton wearing Air Jordan ones And a ghost of my youth pointing fingers like guns We’re curating a image, we’re styling the mask Putting fancy dry-cleaning over every dirty task I tried to push 'em back, make a little more space The whole rack collapsed right in my face! [Melodica & Dub Solo - A dark, melancholic melodica melody echoing through deep tape-delays, backed by a boomy sub-bass sweep and vinyl crackle] [Bridge - Beat drops to pure sub-bass, soft hi-hats, and a tired whisper] Iron out the wrinkles... Starch the collar tight... Pretend that everything... Is gonna be alright... (Sound of a zipper pulling shut firmly: ZZZZIP!) "Fits like a glove. Shame about the conscience." [Chorus - Full band explodes with heavy lo-fi warmth and rich vocal layers] Got skeletons in the walk-in closet, dressed in silk Trying to cover up the rotten milk Tag is still attached, but the spirit is sold Hiding all the secrets in the dark and the cold Yeah, pile up the laundry, shut the wooden door... Same old bone collector living on the second floor... [Outro - Slow dub fade out with echoing melodica, sliding hangers, vinyl noise, and a heavy door latching] Skeletons in the closet... Needs a redesign, Franky... Out! (Fade to silence)
