A soft doubled kick opens the record — heartbeat-shaped, patient, already looping.

A harpsichord-bright melody threads in — dry, wiry, high above the pulse.

Low end swells up beneath the loop; the bed gains weight without gaining speed.

Small clicks tick in at the edges, sharpening the pocket.

A voice enters, close and breathy, sitting right on the beat.

The voice steps back, and the keys take the front of the frame.

It returns settled, unhurried, leaning on the same walk.

Voice gone for a stretch — the harpsichord carries the tune over a beat that never blinks.

The voice comes back lighter, more air in it, still glued to the pulse.

Now the phrasing folds back on itself, lines circling ground already covered.

One more entrance — soft, near, almost whisper-close.

Strings swell behind the beat and hold the room wide open — richer, not faster.

It starts letting go — same beat, less gathered around it.

After five minutes the beat stops, and the harpsichord is left alone, ringing out into quiet.