Tick, tick, tick.
Breathe.
Tick, tick, tick.
Focus.
No melody to soothe the ache,
just the sharp cold sound the silence makes.
A narrow range,
a constant strike on this assembly line of life.
The timber cuts right through the haze
and sets my mind in a different phase.
A transient jolt, a wake up call.
I'm building up a different wall to the iron pulse.
A metallic beat that echoes in the concrete street.
A dry attack,
a rapid decay,
chipping all the soft away.
This resonant clang, this frequency,
is the only truth that's speaking to me.
My iron pulse.
Pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse.
They try to feed me symphonies of gentle words and apologies,
but all that sticks,
all I can trust is this clean and unforgiving thrust.
No harmonic line,
no reverbs,
grays,
just the pure and present time and space.
Forged in the moment,
hard and fast,
a shape that's built alone to last.
To the iron pulse.
The metallic beat that echoes in the concrete street.
A dry attack,
a rapid decay,
chipping all the soft away.
This resonant clang,
this frequency,
is the only truth that's speaking to me.
My iron pulse.
Pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse.
A single event,
isolated,
pure.
A foundation that will endure.
Stripped of all the extra sound,
on this solid ground I'm found.
Iron pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse.