Hard riff hits locked to the drums. No soft way in.

Voice steps into the dark the band already made.

That first I can't sounds reported, already worn in.

Crawl up the legs. The groove has been climbing this whole time.

Again lands hard. Recurrence is the law here.

Same save-you frame, now cut off at love.

Title finally names it. Sixteen Psyche, late on purpose.

Coma tail quivering. The language goes fevered while the riff holds.

World's bent. The refusal just got bigger than one body.