No run-up: from a breath of silence, the distorted mass and heavy drums are already there at full drive.

Double-kick drums churn underneath, fast and even — the whole opening rides that one motor.

The weight pulls back to something airier, and a clean voice arrives, close and unhurried.

Her voice leans in a little, and the backing rises to meet it.

Then the floor gives out — the whole distorted weight lands in one stroke.

The voice goes with it: torn, screamed, pressed right into the distortion.

The scream rides on top of the wall, dry and forward, drums churning underneath.

It all falls away — sparse guitar in a lot of open room.

Her voice comes back, small and level, and each phrase tapers to the same falling close.

A short breath, then the voice picks up again — the bed a shade fuller beneath it.

The same phrase comes around again, back to back — same shape, same close.

Under one held note the backing keeps swelling — pressure gathering without rushing.

It breaks open — the full distorted weight returns in one stroke, a screamed voice inside it.

Her last phrase ends, and the drive carries on alone, leaning in a little further.

From here it simply holds — same weight, same drive, nothing new until the edge.

It stops on a dime — last stroke, then only the ring fading in the room.