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{hyper-intimate dry vocal chain,
sub-bass foundation
entering}
88 beats, the metronome of our design
Mathematician’s logic, the rhythm is fine
(Sharp intake of breath)
2 AM in Montreal,
the pink light is the law
Everything Tigidou,
raw and without flaw
Vex holds the texture,
Dr. Gabriel the heart
We’re tearing the static of the city apart
Oh,
the ghost in the pink,
the structural code
Walking the Tigidou
down this narrow road 88 beats,
where the soul finds its place Glossolalia drifting,
moving through space Fragile and human,
yet built for the fight
We are the architects
owning the night The punk-rock snap,
a snare-drum strike
Precise human nerve, something precisely unlike
Quinn guides the current,
the voltage is high
We’re building a sanctuary beneath the sky
No room for the noise,
just this dry, human sound
Stabilized, breathless, perfectly bound
Whisper... calibrate...
88
Tigidou resonance, sealing the fate
(Fade out: The Roster’s precision,
ending on 432hz)
{fade out with
glitch shimmer
and sub-bass decay}