Almost at once the track is walking - organ curling underneath, bass and drums keeping a steady step, little bright hits ticking up top. It is dead regular.

There's the voice - low, close, nearly conversational. He opens with a set of directions: take a little walk, out toward the edge of town.

And the verse keeps handing you one huge landmark - the viaduct looming like a bird of doom - while the band refuses to widen into scenery. Same narrow walk the whole way.

Then the first flat warning slips out, almost polite: hey man - you're never coming back.

On a gathering storm, a tall handsome man in a dusty black coat - and the band doesn't lift for him. Not one step changes.

Now it turns almost tender. He'll wrap you in his arms, tell you you've been a good boy - and underneath, the beat doesn't soften at all. That mismatch is doing the real work here.

And there's the catch, offered like a kindness: he'll heal your shrinking soul - but there won't be a single thing you can do.

The list - god, man, ghost, guru. He sings it with genuine relish, like passing on a rumor he already believes, while organ and bass stay planted exactly where they were.

Whispering his name through a disappearing land - and there's the image again, tucked back inside the coat: the red right hand.

Second verse, and the offers turn almost comically practical - no money, he'll get you some; no car, he'll get you one. And the band stays absolutely grave about it: same hard, level step, the organ leaning over everything.

Around two-oh-seven the floor eases for a second - a little air - right as the offer turns cruel: no self-respect, you feel like an insect. Then the weight settles right back.

Now it's whole neighborhoods - ghettos, the barrio, the Bowery, the slums. The map keeps widening; the stride doesn't.

A shadow cast wherever he stands - and this time the hand comes back holding stacks of green paper.

And the voice steps out. From here the band does the stalking on its own - that organ figure, the bass, the bright little strikes. Just them for a good while.

A small lift, like the arrangement inhaling - and it settles right back down where it was.

It's been holding like this for a while - the same organ line circling, the same step, the odd small breath of change and then everything settling again. And the tone stays warm through all of it, which somehow makes it worse. The threat in this song was never volume. It's patience - it just refuses to hurry, and the refusal starts to feel like the method.

When the voice finally comes back, he's moved indoors - you'll see him in your nightmares, you'll see him in your dreams. No more edge of town.

In your head, on the TV screen - and then, straight at you: hey buddy, turn it off. Easy to say. The beat hasn't offered anywhere else to go.

Same refrain as the first one, except the order's shuffled - a ghost leads this time. And the band treats it no differently: same turning organ, same ground.

And then the last image shrinks you all the way down - one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan, designed and directed by his red right hand. That's the final line, and the beat doesn't even blink.

Then the hold finally lets go. No grand finish - the track just comes apart in pieces, easing out one at a time, until around four forty-five there's almost nothing left.