[genre: Dark Folk, Trip-Hop, Experimental] [mood: melancholic, obsessive, desolate, atmospheric, brooding] [dynamics: starts p, builds to f, ends pp] [instruments: cello, felt piano, sub-bass, sampled drums, male vocals] [vocal-style: Fancier, intimate, close-mic'd, dry] [style: gritty, spacious, lo-fi, baroque decay] [tempo: 85 bpm] [theme: isolation, pyrrhic victory, obsession] [verse 1] [music: sparse trip-hop beat enters with a simple cello line, vocals are dry and close] [Fancier vocals: confessional, hushed, almost a murmur] Lime-and-grain smell in the damp wood here The rooftop aerials all disappear Into a low sky, overcast and gray Another judging day I check the eye-sign on a squeaker’s head Leave the paper pedigrees unread [pre-chorus] [music: cello becomes more rhythmic, tense] [Fancier vocals: hardening, declarative] A fault is a fault, it has to be What the standard asks of me Turned with a widowhood-key [chorus] [music: full beat drops with piano melody, a feeling of melancholic grandeur] [Fancier vocals: resigned, open, melodic] I drew the standard on the wall And measured every bird by fall I took the red card for the one And now the coo-rumble is done [post-chorus] [music: beat and cello cut out, leaving only a single sustained piano note and vocal] [Fancier vocals: whispered, breathy] A chalky film on the show pen Never that stir again [verse 2] [music: beat returns, slightly more agitated, cello is more dissonant] [Fancier vocals: defensive, tense] The clubman from the next loft down Comes over from the other town Says, son, you’re getting loft-blind, I’ve heard said That kind of measure’s in your head He doesn’t know the wattle’s perfect line Or that this bloodline is all mine [bridge] [music: builds in intensity, adding layers of distorted cello and heavier drums] [Fancier vocals: rises from a murmur to a strained, passionate cry] They call it breeding, call it pride With nothing left to burn inside Don’t know the heat of a bird in hand Or the stillness in this land The way a champion’s blood Can bring a final, lonely flood [climactic chorus] [music: peak intensity, drums are a heavy march, piano is hammered, cello soars] [Fancier vocals: strained, desperate, at top of range] I drew the standard on the wall And measured my whole world by fall I took the red card, I'm the one (vocals cracking) The coo-rumble is done for me [outro] [music: all instruments cut abruptly] [Fancier vocals: a deadpan, exhausted whisper] A sharp wing-clap In the drop [fx: a single, resonant pigeon wing flap, followed by complete silence]
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