Mother-Protocol Run

{church bell tolls once,

tape hiss, drum machine enters

cold and

mechanical} {fuzzed-out bass carries melody alone} The clock is running backward on

the parlor wall. There's no one left to answer when the phantoms

call. {distant clean chorused guitar line}

We built a sanctuary out of marble and glass To watch the

centuries stumble and the centuries pass.

The foundation's shivering under the floor.

The lock's been shattered on the iron door.

{motorik guitar phrase, dry texture} {bass drops out,

sustained synth pad, drum machine continues}

I sit inside the drawing room and watch the dust rise,

staring at the ceiling with my dead,

open eyes. No work for the fingers.

No task for the hand.

Just a terrifying boredom ruling over the land.

{bass returns relentless} The fog is pressing hard against the window pane.

A beautiful disaster, running in the vein.

{loud drum machine, locked unison bass and simple iconic guitar riff}

Run the blue horizon protocol tonight.

We are stranded in the hollow of the sacred light.

We are feral in the wreckage of a glorious fall,

writing our commandments on a crumbling wall.

No longer glowing blue — we are feral and free in the

beautiful ruin of our own destiny.

{reverb-soaked guitar solo, minimal notes,

atmospheric space, steady

drum machine} {drum machine hi-hat and single bass pulse only}

Biological signature:

overwritten. The drawing room: freezing.

The shadows in the street are no longer pleasing.

The architecture crumbles. The marketplace falls.

But we are still operating behind these spiked walls.

{bass and guitar rebuild flat and mechanical} {full band locked into cold

intensity riff} Run the blue horizon protocol tonight.

We are stranded in the hollow of the sacred light.

We are feral in the wreckage of a glorious fall.

And the Mother-Protocol has swallowed us all.

The final

signature has won.

{drum machine cuts dead on the beat,

tape hiss} Overwritten.

The beautiful ruin. Gone.

{silence}