Ribon Fox[Intro]
[Hypnotic, clean bass guitar loops an asymmetric 7/8 rhythm solo]
[Tribal, intricate tom-tom drum patterns enter, playing a separate polyrhythm]
[A low, ominous synthesizer drone creeps in from the background]
[Verse 1]
Nineteen-eighteen... the blueprint is drawn,
A mechanical seed in a violent dawn.
John Browning aligned the parameters right,
To sever the shadow away from the light.
Point-five-zero... the boundary defined,
A physical force entering the mind.
Eighty-four pounds of receiver and steel,
Waiting to cycle... waiting to feel.
[Verse 2]
[Distant, volume-swelled distorted guitar notes weave around the bassline]
We pull back the bolt, the dual springs compress,
An old evolution of structural stress.
The headspace is gauged, the timing is set,
A calculation we cannot forget.
The cartridge slides in from the link of the belt,
The coldest geometry the infantry felt.
The firing pin drops on the primer's domain,
Unleashing the pressure... unleashing the pain.
[Chorus]
[Vocal lift] [Heavy explosion of sound] [Chanting melodic delivery]
Spiral out... the trajectory aligns,
Tearing right through all the mortal designs!
Ma Deuce is breathing, the mechanism speaks,
Reaching the summit that violence seeks!
Feed the cycle, become the machine,
The purest equation the world's ever seen!
[Verse 3]
[Guitars drop to a heavy, palm-muted rhythmic chug in 7/8 time]
Short recoil operation, the barrel moves back,
Locking the bolt on the physical track.
The accelerator throws the block to the rear,
Dispelling the panic, dispelling the fear.
The spent brass is thrown through the bottom below,
A rhythmic, mechanical, mathematical flow.
Four-hundred rounds in a minute of time,
An absolute, perfect, symmetrical crime.
[Bridge]
[Music strips back to just the tribal drumming and a pulsing bass groove]
[Vocal switches to a rhythmic, spoken-word whisper that slowly builds]
The copper... the lead... the steel... the bone.
The weapon and operator sitting alone.
We are the architects of our own decay,
Washing the flesh of the legions away.
(Vocal begins to chant faster, shifting into a desperate scream)
Repetition... creates the form!
Repetition... commands the storm!
CYCLE THE STEEL!
CYCLE THE STEEL!
BREATHE IN THE TRAGEDY!
[Guitar Solo]
[Long, atmospheric guitar solo using heavy delay and a Talk Box effect]
[The rhythm section shifts seamlessly from 7/8 into a heavy 9/8 polymetric groove]
[Chorus]
[Maximum intensity] [Full band wall of sound] [Aggressive vocal belt]
Spiral out... the trajectory aligns,
Tearing right through all the mortal designs!
Ma Deuce is breathing, the mechanism speaks,
Reaching the summit that violence seeks!
Feed the cycle, become the machine,
The purest equation the world's ever seen!
[Outro]
[Metal instruments fade out, leaving the clean looping 7/8 bassline from the intro]
The barrel is heavy. [Whispered]
The chamber is clear.
The cycle stops turning...
As shadows draw near.
The iron grows cold...
Fading through the passage of time!
[Final deep, detuned guitar chord hits hard and sustains into feedback]
[Tribal drums hit a final single rimshot and fade to silence]
[End]