Frank - Part 2

Cheap backpack from the corner shop, guitar in his hand, An hour walking out beyond the streets he understood. Then there it was— The old textile mill. Broken windows. Rusted steel. The hole was still there in the fence. The lock was still untouched. He slipped inside and for the first time smiled. Back when Scotland made things besides whisky and tourism, Machines had filled this place. Now only bolts remained, Metal gravestones in the concrete, Marking where they'd stood. And Frank crossed through their ghosts toward the operations room. [Instrumental — guitar theme begins, uneasy 7/8 pulse] [Verse 4] Up the metal staircase, past the old crane controls, Ladder to the rooftop— He could feel it getting close. His heart began to hammer. His mouth was getting dry. Six months he'd dreamed about this moment. Six months asking why. He put his hand upon the ladder— Then voices from below. "Fuck... not now." He dropped against the rooftop as footsteps crossed the floor. The guitar case! Still beneath him. Sitting there in sight. He climbed back down, grabbed it, pulled it up— Just in time. [Breakdown — almost whispered] Footsteps on the staircase. Voices underneath. Frank pressed against the rooftop, barely dared to breathe. Then he smelled it— Smoke. A joint passed between them. Security. They'd changed things since he'd gone. One laugh. One cough. One curious glance upward... And everything was done. But the footsteps turned away. Down the stairs. Across the floor. Silence. [Instrumental — tension releases, then a low drone remains] [Verse 5 — quiet] Frank waited. One minute. Two. Then slowly rose. This place wasn't safe anymore. He knew. He searched along the rooftop, behind the rust and grime, Exactly where he'd thrown it on that rainy night. Nothing. Nothing. "Come on..." Then— There. A little velvet bag. He stopped. For six months he had imagined this. But now that it was there he almost couldn't move. Gold thread upon the velvet. The symbol still intact. He reached down carefully, as though it might react. [Pre-Chorus — slowly building] He passed it from hand to hand. Felt the weight. Felt the shape. Every sensible thought inside him was screaming, "Walk away." But Frank had spent six months in prison. And every single day, This thing had been waiting for him. Waiting in the same place. [Chorus — huge] A crime of passion, a passion for crime! Was it his obsession or something in his mind? He opened up the velvet. He reached his hand inside. His fingers touched the facets— And something came alive. A crime of passion, a passion for crime! Six months without touching it, Yet nothing had declined. The same impossible beauty. The same hypnotic light. The same feeling that had brought him here On that rainy night. [Bridge — music falls almost completely silent] He lifted it into the daylight. Turned it slowly in his hand. And the abandoned factory disappeared. The prison disappeared. Gerry disappeared. The sentence. The flat. The road. Everything. There was only— it. Beautiful. Impossible. Perfect. Frank stared into its facets, And somewhere deep inside them something seemed to stare back. [Instrumental — long psychedelic/prog section] [Final Refrain — distant vocals building in layers] A crime of passion... A passion for crime... Six months in prison... But what served the time? A crime of passion... A passion for crime... He thought he'd come to rescue it. He thought he'd left it behind. But perhaps the thing he'd hidden there had never left him. [Outro — whispered] Frank closed his fingers around it. And smiled. He was free. ...wasn't he?