[Intro: A single, dry Moog bass note pulses on the quarter beat. Faintly, the rhythmic, mechanical ticking of a dot-matrix printer provides the high-end percussion. A cold, glassy synth pad fades in, holding a high, dissonant note that hangs in the air like fog.] ... [Verse 1: The bass pulse and printer ticking continue. The deadpan, close-mic vocal enters, delivered with minimal inflection, as if reading an official memo.] The mannequins in the shop windows have new opinions [spoken, rhythmic] They stare at the buses with a quiet, patriotic intensity Their plastic faces set in admirable resolve We all filed Form 30B to request new faces [a slight pause] The memo said the old ones were deemed... inefficient The old ones held the wrong kind of light [Refrain: A sharp, 808 hi-hat enters, slicing through the mix. The vocal is layered with a sibilant whisper, slightly out of sync.] (This is the new compliance) This is the new compliance [Verse 2: The beat solidifies. A heavy, four-on-the-floor kick drum enters, driving the motorik pulse. A new, frantic arpeggiator synth line starts, sounding like a distant alarm. The vocal delivery gains a slight, anxious edge.] My neighbor's shadow is taking notes again It stretches past his feet and onto my lawn It holds its pen in a way I find suspicious [a slight, breathy crack in the voice] We are all learning to applaud the transparency As they are teaching the children to eat glass It saves on disposal It makes their smiles... sharper [Refrain: Louder. The hi-hats are more aggressive. The glassy pads swell, the dissonance growing. The vocal is no longer a whisper, but a clear, doubled statement.] (This is the new compliance) This is the new compliance [Bridge: The electronic beat is suddenly overpowered by the entrance of processed, live-sounding drums, pounding a tribal, insistent rhythm. The Moog bass distorts, becoming a snarling wall of sound. The vocals are now a strained, passionate shout, fighting against the noise.] We stood in the square and we held the mirrors up We held them up to the cameras, to the blank-faced guards We just stood there Reflecting the empty sky, reflecting the lens, reflecting the gray [gasping for breath] The silver surface was declared an act of aggression They told us reflection was impolite They told us our angles were all wrong They said we were bending the light [shouted] WE WERE BENDING THE LIGHT! [Climax (Instrumental): Everything peaks. The pounding acoustic drums, the distorted bass, and the siren-like arpeggiators are joined by a wall of saturated, gothic synths. It sounds like a cathedral collapsing into a machine. The noise is overwhelming, chaotic, and grand for eight full bars, then cuts abruptly to absolute silence.] ... ... [Verse 3 (Breakdown): After a beat of silence, the original, sparse Moog pulse and the faint teletype ticking return. The vocal is back, but it's no longer deadpan. It's fragile, cracked, and trembling, recorded very close to the mic.] The ink rearranges itself on the forms while I sleep I think... [a sharp inhale] I think I liked my old face better But the new one... The new one smiles wider It always smiles wider [Outro: The simple Moog pulse and teletype rhythm continue. The refrain is whispered, layered, and fed through a tape delay, slowly dissolving into a bed of static and white noise.] (This is the new compliance) (This is the new compliance) (This is the new...) (This is the...) (This is...) [The beat and all instrumentation fade, leaving only the sound of static, which then cuts to silence.]
