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{low vibrating drone with sporadic
hollow percussion
hits, cold claustrophobic reverb}
L'issue est indifférente. The outcome is binary.
Ambition in the shadows of a black car,
the ordinary. A skyscraper cage,
a narrative on the wire,
We trade the small fractures for a prayer in the fire.
Fear ascends the staircase,
an architectural dread,
Awaiting the finality, the blow to the head.
{cold synthetic reverb on fear,
monotone flat clinical delivery} Patriots vanish in the frame of the screen,
The harvest of the slaughter,
the brutal machine.
"Have we achieved?" she recoils,
she tears at the seam,
The pain is the static,
the waking of the dream.
The mirror is a weapon,
the father is the force,
Pushing the white mask into the course.
{erratic tense observational delivery,
metallic grinding distortion on vocals} Just like the old days.
Comme les jours d'antan.
Stroking the lifeless, bleeding through the span.
The yellow moon rises,
the soldiers close the gate,
One hundred years of history,
the velvet weight of fate.
One after the other.
L'un après l'autre. The ribbon is tightening.
The tiger is the throat.
{anthemic oppressive repetitive delivery,
layered screaming harmonies on one after the other}
Crimson.
Le ruban se serre.
The cranium shatters.
Je n'ai plus d'univers.
A hundred years.
Cent ans de silence.
{music pulls back to rhythmic scraping noise and faint high-pitched ringing,
whisper very close-mic}
100% Tiguidou. The century is closed.
The water is thrashing.
We die in the loop.
{return to raw
intimate
studio vibe, cold resolved,
final overwhelming synth-wash dropping into total hollow silence}