Electronics and a bright synth riff gather; drums and bass lock a steady pocket. The grid is running before any voice arrives.

Soft lead vocal enters over that pocket and lays out the fantasy in even lines—music, money, models, Paris, stars—without breaking the groove.

The form lifts into the decision refrain (This is our decision, to live fast and die young), answers the office-commute doubt, and lands on We’re fated to pretend. A doubled To pretend and a brief instrumental stretch keep the same motor alive between vocal spans.

Verse contour returns on the unchanged pocket, but the lyric turns backward—playgrounds, mother, sister, dog, home—cataloguing what the fantasy costs.

The second chorus cycle restates helplessness and the disposable future (models, divorce, more models), hardens through We’ll choke on our vomit and that will be the end, and brings the fate line back altered: We were fated to pretend.

The refrain dissolves into repeated yeah, yeah, yeah while the synth-pop motor continues; voice thins and exits, the instrumental groove carries alone, then withdraws into residual electronics and silence.

The track keeps one forward pocket from first lock to last fade while the lyric moves swagger → nostalgia → fatal punchline, and lets the motor outlast the voice.