That dry drum loop and the polished synths are already the whole room: bright, neat, and boxed in.

Her first line lands almost conversationally, getting older but “never wiser” over a beat that doesn’t make a scene out of it.

The pre-chorus tightens through those clipped rhymes — devices, prices, vices, crisis — and her delivery starts stacking consequence fast.

Now the chorus names it plainly: “It’s me, hi” sounds like a joke because it’s sung so directly.

That teatime line turns shame into a little public vote, while the synth-pop loop keeps moving with clean, unsentimental confidence.

The second verse keeps the same neat pulse, but the image gets stranger immediately: “everybody is a sexy baby” arrives without the track changing costume.

She rushes through “covert narcissism” with surgical clarity; the phrase is ungainly, but the melody makes it scan.

This return doesn’t need to reintroduce the hook; the same “It’s me, hi” now feels like a habit she can slip back into.

The bridge turns the self-accusation into a will-reading nightmare, still carried by the steady electronic beat underneath.

The punch line, “laughing up at us from Hell,” is delivered like cartoon theater, but the production stays tidy behind it.

When “everybody agrees” starts repeating, the chorus idea turns communal instead of just private.

The late chorus layers quick answers in the vocal — hi, teatime, everybody agrees — like the hook has become a roomful of echoes.

At the end the held pattern eases away rather than resolving; after all that clean motion, the stop feels very bare.