[Intro] [dusty upright piano, tape hiss] [Verse 1] [minimalist beat from organic sounds, deep sub-bass pulse] (First) [whispery] The first fence was of bone, to keep the blight out. The first cup was our hands, to catch the falling water. We drew a line around the camp with ash and charcoal. And whatever crossed it was profane. [whispery, building intensity] Your kind, they point their spires to a different star. They eat the root we burn, and call the poison healing. I saw their children laugh at our solemnity. I watched their faces in the firelight, gleaming. [Chorus 1] [explosive wall of sound, fuzz bass, frantic live drums] [soaring, layered vocals] This is the weight, the measure, and the angle! The sacred geometry we own! We bend the branches till they break and tangle! This is the shape of our praise, carved from cold stone! [Verse 2] [palm-muted fuzz bass, complex beat, ghostly synth pad] [raw, conversational] We taught the young to walk the high wire, steady. To bear the frost, to hold their breath for ages. Our foremost virtue is a blade kept ready. A hundred years to write the first few pages. [raw, building intensity] Your tribe gives shelter to the weak and broken. A gesture we would see as pure corrosion. You marvel at our silence, grim, unspoken. We marvel at your riot of emotion. [Chorus 2] [more unhinged drums, atonal guitar feedback in background] [strained, desperate vocals, voice cracks on 'praise'] This is the weight, the measure, and the angle! The sacred geometry we own! We bend the branches till they break and tangle! This is the shape of our praise! Leave us alone! [Bridge] [abrupt silence... then single dissonant piano chord] [childlike, exposed vocal] But I climbed the highest peak last night... And saw a thousand fires on a thousand hills... just like our fire. And the great, dark spaces in between them all... And for the first time... my hands felt hollow. [Outro] [broken, sputtering drum beat returns] [guttural, fragmented whisper] This is the shape... (the shape of our praise) This is... the shape... (the shape of our praise) [primal] This is... [Final piano chord cuts off, leaving only tape hiss]
