A little noise clears into the opening heartbeat.

Dry drum hits land close, with air still around them.

The pattern stays shadowed and spare, not shoved forward.

For a while it's only these small parts choosing the same narrow path.

Fraser comes in almost level with the instruments—love, love is a verb—light, close, not seizing the front.

Love is a doing word, set right on the pulse that's already been practicing the doing.

Gentle impulsion, then shakes me, makes me lighter, over those same dry hits.

Teardrop on the fire—and the music doesn't flare; the phrase just passes through the measured floor.

Voice out for a stretch. The plucked figure keeps its fine edge while the beat stays spare.

Night, night of matter—darker words, same chamber.

Black flowers blossom without any theatrical collapse underneath.

The blossom line comes back, answered again by fearless on my breath, harmony still patient under it.

Teardrop on the fire again, then fearless cuts short—fearless on my—and leaves the pattern running.

This middle stretch isn't empty. The bright figure keeps blinking while the drums make tiny sideways moves.

Low tones widen the room from underneath, and every new shadow still measures itself against that repeating architecture.

Water is my eye—third entry, the lyric turning toward reflection.

Most faithful mirror, carried in the same close voice against the unforced pulse.

Teardrop on the fire, then of a confession—same wound, more history in the delivery.

Mirror and teardrop cycle once more; nothing in the arrangement needs to dress up for the return.

Main vocal body lets go, and the track keeps moving like an afterimage—figure, drums, low hold.

You're stumbling in the dark—a human-scale break in the sealed surface.

The stumble line again. The machine doesn't break, but the smoothness suddenly has a body that can lose balance.

After that, just the pocket again—small lifts inside the same repeating hold.

It's thinning by degrees now. Percussion still traces the count while the bright figure starts to lose its edge.

Withdrawal by evaporation rather than a final cadence—the borrowed pulse letting itself go.