A bright keyboard figure starts right away and just keeps choosing the same small path.

Drums and bass slip in light on their feet—friendly, steady, not heavy.

There—a tiny hitch in the surface, then the pattern treats it like manners and keeps going.

Another small turn passes through, still nothing that feels like arrival. The groove already seems complete.

Low end holds the floor, that upper figure keeps blinking, and the whole thing stays almost serenely practical.

Voice steps in plain: “Home is where I want to be”—careful, a little surprised the room is already made.

“I feel numb,” then “I guess I must be having fun”—that smile-and-stare angle, while the band stays gentle under it.

“Feet on the ground, head in the sky”—bass and drums keep the ground; the bright loop keeps pointing up.

“Hi yo”—the syllables open a window where explanation had been.

Plenty of time, light in your eyes—still no swell, just that mild forward push.

“You're standing here beside me,” and companionship sounds like steadiness—the pattern willing to remain itself.

“Never for money, always for love” lands clean because the music has been so free of strain.

Cover up, say goodnight—and right around here the surface gives a small shuffle, a local bend, then returns.

Instrumental stretch now: the central figure keeps circling, domestic cheer in the rhythm, harmony shifting just enough that the loop never goes furniture.

Home again—“I guess I'm already there.” First time it was a wish; now it's recognition, and the band still refuses the obvious swell.

“This must be the place”—almost accidental, finding the ground the music has been laying down the whole time.

Hi yo comes back less like a break from speech and more like part of the structure.

We drift in and out, sing into my mouth—the lyric world opens stranger while the groove stays kind.

“I'm just an animal looking for a home”—plainest creaturely need, and the repetition starts to feel protective.

Eyes lighting up, eyes looking through, blank spots covered—phrasing a little more clipped against that same clean weather.

Now the hold loosens—the figure loses its claim, the motion falls away, and the ending is brief and practical.