No slow build — it starts already moving, fast and dark, with small bright flashes way up at the top edge.

And in comes the voice, right in the middle of it all — the first words out: 'we're submerged.'

'Sinking slow' — over a pulse this fast. The words and the music are pulling in opposite directions.

There's the first loosening — the phrase drops back, gives a little slack. Not freedom, though; the pull never quite lets go.

The voice drops to a whisper — 'the lies I hide.'

And the scream is right back — first word out: 'drowning.' The weight settles over the same driving beat.

'Gasping for air' — screamed like the breath is really gone. And the beat never slows for it; the words fight for air while the music keeps moving.

The refrain comes back around — but it's 'I'm submerged' now, not 'we're.' Somewhere in that last verse, the drowning got personal.

Now the water turns into chains — 'the waves of my past are the chains on me.' Something worn, not something you're in.

Two minutes at this speed, and we're in exactly the same water. The beat keeps moving, the harmony stays right where it was — fast, and going nowhere.

A real turn — the voice sings now, actual melody, memories circling below. And underneath, the rhythm has locked in tighter: harder precision, less space around it.

Now the phrase itself starts circling — 'circling below,' again and again. The line does what it describes.

Bright flickers up at the top, the low end rolling on, the voice caught in the middle of the same drive. It just keeps circling.

The refrain comes back a third time — same words, same speed, nothing eased. By now the not-changing is the point.

The opening words return — sung this time, not screamed — and it's 'we're' again. After all that 'I,' the water is shared one more time.

'Sinking slow' — sung, unhurried, over the same sprinting pulse. Same mismatch as the opening, one last time.

Everything narrows to one sung phrase — 'where the waters flow.' No argument left, just the water, still moving.

And now it lets go — the pattern comes apart in pieces, small bright flares lifting and fading. It doesn't rise out; it just thins.

Aftershock now — quiet, scattered, still moving. The grip is gone and the current somehow isn't.