The groove is already neat and clipped: bright top, small drum motion, and low support doing the work underneath.

Kevin Parker comes in from inside the motion, not over it; even “all this noise” stays tucked into the track.

When the title arrives, “let it happen” feels less like advice than the groove describing what it's already doing.

The words keep circling running and pressure, while the accompaniment stays strangely even beneath him.

That “whirlwind” image lands inside the same steady current; the song doesn't need to speed up to make it feel close.

The title phrase comes back more settled now, like surrender has become part of the rhythm instead of just a line.

The take-off language raises the stakes, but the vocal still rides the same smooth, forward surface.

After the long stutter, the recognizable song is back; that smoothness feels different once we've heard the track catch on itself.

This second-half voice is treated into a vocoder-like shape, and “I cannot vanish” comes through more as texture than confession.

The manipulated vocal returns in short, quick phrases, almost percussive against the continuing pulse.

Now the clean sung line opens up: “Baby, now I'm ready” sounds earned because the track has already skipped, bent, and kept going.

“The moment and the sound” is a perfect late phrase here: he names the thing we've been inside for almost eight minutes.

The ending eases away by degrees, leaving the motion to thin out instead of closing with a hard stop.