Out of silence, the band arrives already at full stride, and the voice lands right on top of it, wide open.

The stomp locks in — heavy downbeats, the riff grinding right underneath.

The lead settles into a rolling, repeated line, and a second voice starts throwing answers back from the side of the room.

The shouting drops away and the voice comes in low and close, half speech, sitting just behind the beat.

Now the line pulls apart: single syllables dropped into the riff one at a time, and every gap gets an answer from the room.

Back up on top — the full shout returns over the same riff, and the room answers every line.

Everything above it can do what it wants; underneath, the riff hasn't moved a step.

The scattered phrasing comes back — one syllable, space, then another, the band treading water between them.

The voice steps out for a while here, and the stomp holds the floor on its own.

Call, then the riff stabs back — the voice and the band trading the same two moves, unhurried.

The voice is down to lone syllables again, spaced far apart.

Then the voice is gone, and a lead line takes the front — bent hard, squeezed, over the same stomp.

The voice slides back in over the riff, picking up right where it left it.

The lines have shrunk to one short scrap, hammered over and over, a little rougher each time.

The stomp lets go — the band falls away, and the voice is left nearly alone in the room.

One last shout, and everything cuts to silence.