Brief silence, then the hyper-fast double-kick and down-tuned riff lock. No verse, no lift—only the pocket the rest of the track will refuse to leave.

Harsh vocals enter over the unbroken pattern and state the wound: fire through the head, crimson spill, micro-nemesis. The band does not open space; the voice rides the same fixed shape.

Instrumental holds and further vocal returns keep the same hard backing. New lyric blocks arrive (malfunction, bloodletting, device of my extinction) without a formal reset—the section’s job is endurance, proving the frame still works under load.

The lyric tightens to direct address: Heed, it commands… Bleed, it says, bleed you will. Refrain force inside the same groove rather than a new section type.

The pocket runs on after the command; late vocal re-entry keeps the shape alive until the weight finally eases, the pattern breaks, and the band drops into a short final fade and silence.

One long locked form: enter, ride, command, drain.