Piano finally shows up, and that first chord already sits low.

Now the shape is set—slow, heavy steps you can’t quite count on the square.

Same dark figure, just harder to look away from—no big swell, only more weight.

Voice rises pale out of the piano: “I jumped in the river and what did I see?”

“Black-eyed angels swam with me”—still almost no force in the delivery.

Moon, stars, astral cars—the underwater picture keeps opening while the piano holds its uneven pull.

Figures he used to see drift past on the same restrained line.

“All my lovers were there with me”—the words stay plain against that patient chord ritual.

Past and futures arrive together, folded into one short phrase.

Heaven in a little row boat—small enough that it feels true.

Strings have widened the room around piano and voice; the sway still won’t give a normal handhold.

“Nothing to fear and nothing to doubt,” and the band doesn’t brighten for it.

This middle stretch isn’t setup anymore—it’s the whole suspended body of the song.

Back in: “I jumped into the river,” same current, voice still unstrained.

Angels again, riding the thicker string-and-piano hold.

Moon and astral cars return almost unchanged—the vision is the loop.

Lovers, then past and futures—time stacked flat while the chords keep rowing.

That little row boat again—still not grand, still the right size.

Nothing to fear, nothing to doubt—first pass of the close, music still dim.

Same line again, like he’s letting the reassurance settle rather than climb.

Third time through—fearlessness as steady surrender, not a lift.

The hold finally loosens; the pattern starts to feel remembered more than present.

Sound thins and drains away—no clean cadence, just the ritual leaving the room.