Song Cover Image

Made to Measure

Shikimi Takehana
Shikimi Takehana
Two voices that never touch, A woman of twenty-four, bright and quick, sweet with cold intelligence underneath, raps in complete formal sentences, never a contraction, A man in his fifties answers, low and smoky, unhurried, wry, polite as someone who signs documents for a living, They trade verses, then meet in a restrained sung chorus at a measured distance, Never a love song, Under them, dubstep-leaning electronic pop, 138 BPM, E minor, Heavy wobble bass, detuned unison saw through a talking resonant filter, deep sub, 808 weight growing, Two-step drums, snare on three, deliberate holes in the groove, Glassy chiptune plucks against dark charcoal FM tones, A thin high-passed loop like music leaking from someone's headphones runs throughout, never stopping, A dry mechanical tick holds one rate through every change of meter, Half-time drop, then a second drop regrouped into triplets, Hard weekday daylight, concrete, graffiti, Elegant, wry, slightly broken, Ends on the word overwrite

[Intro] NICO! REI! Made to measure. NICO! REI! [Verse 1] How do you do. The name is NICO. I am twenty-four. Harajuku is my address. Pink and blue is what I wore. Leather at the shoulder, and a platform for the sole. I am the pop half of this. That is my official role. You may find me startling. Please do not be alarmed. I was raised extremely well. That is why I come armed. Cute that has learned how to break is the strongest thing to be. REI is learning how to break. He is learning it from me. When the talk turns into music, I do not pretend or dance. I will say it to your face. So, thank you in advance. Good afternoon. My name is REI, and I am fifty-six. Board of directors. Three-piece. Dark green tie. No tricks. I approve things for a living. That is precisely what I do. I do not resemble music. I am well aware. It is true. But I have loved it quietly since before she was alive. Thirty-two years is a long time to be wrong. Now I arrive. My teacher is NICO. Yes. That is exactly where I stand. A man who signs off on the world takes lessons. Understand. I keep a little poison in the politeness when I smile. That is the house style. [Pre-Chorus] Arms into the sleeves of a life I did not live. Too wide at the shoulder, or thirty-two years too narrow. It does not fit. Do not fix it. [Chorus] New clothes, same distance. I am wearing yours, and you are wearing mine. Take the numbers, leave the name. Made to measure. Measure me again. [Drop] [Verse 2] Charcoal herringbone. Three pieces. I have done the whole thing right. Green paisley at the throat, a gold bar holding it tight. He wears a belt with a suit like this. A tailor calls that a tell. So I wore the belt as well. What he does, he does well. Brown suede. Dark green socks. No jewelry. Nothing that would chime. The watch stays where it lives. I do not borrow time. Pink on the right, blue on the left, matte, and the back is blank. She did not sign me anywhere. For that, she has my thanks. Cargo pockets. One chain, from a pocket watch, worn at the side. Platform soles, still white. Two days old. That, I cannot hide. I gave up my one rule of style to wear her pink and blue. Her eye outranks my own. I have reviewed it. It is true. Approved. [Pre-Chorus] Hands in the pockets of a life I did not choose. Far too clean at the sole, or thirty-two years too early. It does not fit. Do not fix it. [Chorus] Same distance, new clothes. You are holding mine, and I am holding yours. The only thing we did not trade is what we call each other. Made to measure. Measure us again. [Drop] [Outro] The wall was already written on. We did not add a word. Every surface on this street is somebody's second draft. Two of us is enough to get anywhere from here. I have signed off on stranger things. New clothes. Same distance. NICO. REI. Overwrite.