A reed-like chord hangs first, warm and slightly blurred, before the band claims a stride.

Drums and a low line finally take a seat. The pulse stops hovering and starts walking.

Voice enters on the rain at the door, already carried by that steady groove.

Broken down and hungry. The ache is bodily, and the band holds its warmth instead of swelling.

Too young to hold on, too old to run. The groove stays calm, which makes the bind worse.

I'll wait, and I'll burn. Melody lifts brighter here, and the arrangement rises with him.

Title lands at last. Lover, you should've come over. Earned by the delay.

Indoors now. Lonely room, made bed, rain crossing the open window.

It's never over starts stacking bargains. Kingdom, riches, blood, each pass thicker.

Maybe I'm just too young comes back worn. After the room and the bargains, youth sounds exhausted.

Words give out. Wordless cries ride a stubborn band runway underneath.

The old trap returns dirtier. Too young to hold, too old to break free.

How long will I wait. Then lover repeats until the word is almost only breath and pulse.

Pressure lets go. The carried body loosens, and the track falls into plain silence.