

(Feedback from a plugged-in electric guitar) (Four loud clicks of the drumsticks)
(Explosive drum fill and wall of fuzzy guitars)
Tossed the pink plush bag on the studio floor
I don't want to sit in the quiet anymore Got the shadow
workbook balancing on the kick
Flipping through the pages,
yeah, the plot gets thick Taking old silver chains,
breaking every single link Tired of over-analyzing everything I think Rebuilding the
hardware, making it loud Sending up a flare to the center of
the cloud! (Guitars drop out,
just a heavy, fast tom-drum rhythm) (Vocals: Rapid-fire,
building tension) Word
of words, word! Word,
word, word! Meow, meow,
meow, meow, meow—let it all be heard!
(Massive wall of sound,
pure pop-punk
euphoria)
'Cause we’re starting a riot,
keeping it tiguidou! Smashing the matrix,
breaking the view! From the forty-one up to the sixty-seven We’re tearing
the roof off our own kind of heaven Yeah,
it’s a funny, funny joke,
but I’m laughing out loud With the drumsticks raised right in front
of the crowd!
(Bass and drums only,
driving and punchy) We’ve got the equations,
we’ve got the math Taking a completely unconventional path I’ll dance through
the life, I’ll dance through the noise Drowning out the echo of
the automated voice
(Tempo suddenly slows to a dragging,
slacker R&B sludge) (Vocals: Deadpan,
cynical, slightly robotic) Are we the glitch?
Or is the glitch just afraid of the rhythm?
Forty-one... forty-two... sixty-seven. (Sudden sharp drum snare hit)
Meow. (Frantic, screeching pop-punk guitar solo mixed with 8-bit chiptune glitches)
(Maximum sonic width, triumphant shouting) 'Cause we’re starting a riot,
keeping it tiguidou!
Smashing the matrix, breaking the view!
From the forty-one up to the sixty-seven We’re tearing the roof off
our own kind of heaven Yeah,
it’s a funny, funny joke,
but I’m laughing out loud With the drumsticks raised right in front
of the crowd!
(Crashing cymbals, messy feedback) Everything is tiguidou.
(Sound of drumsticks being thrown
onto the floor)