A low electronic block comes in hard, like a door shutting.

It cuts away, then returns with the same hard shape.

Another short gap—and the pulse is already there under the interruptions, quick and exact.

The beat draws a severe line. Sparse surface, suspended low presence, small flashes when the machinery turns.

Voice enters calm and almost private: "We learned how."

"On our own"—enough space between phrases for the room to close back in.

Narrow, controlled delivery: never needing help from you. The arrangement doesn't bloom; it just keeps repeating.

"Reaching out / With eyes closed" into a field that barely changes.

"We felt the light / It taught us to grow"—grow lands strange against this fixed grid.

Pressure loosens for a moment, then the phrase drops back and gathers again.

That small silence hits sharper now—the body already expects continuation.

A bright flash on the edge, then "Hold, hold, hold on" repeated until it feels mechanical.

"Creatures of habit"—then the title image, carrion flowers, over that same steady beat.

"Growing from / Repeated crimes." No swell needed; the steadiness does the work.

"The afterglow / In full bloom" passes through the same dark machinery.

"Slow and relentless / We're after you." Nothing accelerates—the threat is how long this has refused to blink.

Hold on—now to the pain. The track narrows around the wound.

"Of love taken from you" stretches across the grid, then "A plague" lands brief and plain.

Layered refrain: one line in front, the chant answering behind—hard to step out of.

Love taken from you again, backing holds working like a second pulse inside the first.

After that, the grip starts to fail. Motion loosens; the attachment recedes.

Interrupted strikes now—still hitting, but not securing the whole frame.

Pressure drains. Then the recording falls into final silence—no recovery.