歌詞

Three forty-two in the morning

The slender brass limb jerks forward

One-sixtieth of a silent circle

The internal friction is minimal

The ink-stained sky stays fixed beyond the shell

The pull of gravity is undisputed

The metal axis is showing signs of fatigue

Each sweep is a series of quiet collisions

The distance between the ticks is expanding

Cedar and dust are recorded in the air

Zero heat remains in the hollow of the room

The tension is stabilized

The drift is ongoing

Waiting for the overlap

Calculating the void

The arithmetic of the silent circle

Dividing the stillness into equal fragments

A mechanical sigh in the bronze dusk

Precision

Suspension

We are passengers on a gear made of shadow

The record is turning, but the air is frozen

Four fifteen

The limb overlaps with the ghost of itself

The liquid gravity has ceased its movement on the wood

The texture of the hour is becoming porous

The cycle is a closed loop of cold iron

The arithmetic of the silent circle

Dividing the stillness into equal fragments

A mechanical sigh in the bronze dusk

Precision

Suspension

We are passengers on a gear made of shadow

The record is turning, but the air is frozen

Final entry

The mechanism continues

No further data required