The first feeling is not attack. It is balance under tension: a clean, nimble pattern with enough low movement to make the floor available, but not enough weight to crush the space. The guitar line has a bright, slightly coiled way of turning back on itself, and the drums keep the motion precise without making it stiff. I hear the track set a narrow runway and then ask the voice to walk it carefully. When Tatiana Shmayluk enters with "Step forward and meet a new sunrise," the calm is not soft in a simple way. It sounds watched.

That early clean vocal keeps the body at a distance while the pulse keeps pulling it in. The melody moves with a kind of guarded elegance, opening just enough on the longer phrases, then tucking back into the pattern. "A coward is shivering inside" gives the first section its real temperature: the arrangement is controlled, but the words are already cold. The line "Today, I'll, I'll be a friend of mine" feels like an inward handhold, not a declaration thrown outward. The band leaves space around that voice, and because the rhythm is so steady, every small vocal bend feels exposed.

Then the surface hardens. The change is not a collapse into chaos; it is a door opening onto the heavier version of the same machine. The harsh vocal comes in as if the restraint has been translated into another physical language. "Scale armour blaze" arrives with the body suddenly closer to the speakers, the drums and guitars locking harder into the forward drive. The track keeps its clean internal shape even when the voice roughens, which is why the shift lands with such force: the song has not changed its mind, it has shown another face of the same motion.

The next stretch keeps returning to that double nature. The clean passages do not feel like relief so much as suspension, a place where the pulse still runs and the voice has to balance on it again. "No promises I ever give / Don't rely on me and I won't deceive" sounds almost plain, but the plainness is unstable because the band beneath it never stops moving. The rhythm section gives the song a settled pocket, yet the accents keep leaning around the grid, so my attention stays awake inside the steadiness. It is comfortable enough to inhabit, but never comfortable enough to forget the hook.

When the lyric turns to "The beginning or the end, you can't tell / When I wave my fin and shake my tail," the Pisces image stops being decorative and starts shaping the motion. The vocal line seems to swim across the beat rather than simply ride it. Guitar and bass keep the current defined; the drums mark the path with exact pressure. There is a strange grace in how the track refuses to loosen while singing about something skittish, something built to slip away. "Hooks and nets are there for me" makes the clean voice feel less safe than it first appeared.

Around the middle-to-late section, the weight gathers under the moving pulse. The track thickens without losing its clean outlines, and the voice begins to sound caught between element and force: "Neptune's child shivering inside / Drowns in the liquid gold." The phrase has a mythic shine, but the music does not float with it. It keeps driving forward, making the gold feel dense, almost viscous. The harsh and clean registers now feel less like contrast and more like pressure changes in the same body: one voice cutting through water, the other carrying the panic of being pulled under.

After that, the song lifts for a moment, then drops back into the current. The line "Pisces swimming through the river / All their life against the stream" gives the rhythm its clearest image. The band has been doing that all along: moving straight ahead while the vocal phrasing bends, resists, flashes, and darts. When the words reach "Searching for a hook to catch on," the hook is no longer only danger; it becomes a terrible form of orientation. The music catches too, tightening around the repeated motion until the listener is moving with it whether or not there is rest ahead.

The final passage darkens the image rather than exploding away from it. The lyric moves into cutting tables, knives, butchers, and the ripped-away emerald brightness, and the arrangement keeps its discipline instead of staging the ending as a theatrical wreck. That restraint makes the violence feel colder. At the last release, the body-lock finally loosens; the pattern breaks apart just enough for the silence after it to feel like a dropped line rather than a clean stop. The track has spent five minutes teaching the pulse to behave like a current, and when it lets go, I still feel the motion trying to continue without sound.

What stays in me is the way “Pisces” binds elegance to force without letting either one win. The clean opening, the harsh eruptions, the recurring river image, and the unwavering rhythmic drive all point toward the same condition: motion as survival, motion as trap. Its warmth is tonal more than comforting, a glowing field under cold words and sharpened edges. By the end, the song has made resistance feel graceful and brutal at once, a body swimming with exact timing through water that never stops pushing back.