Steel walls hold a sterile cold
Where the iron stories fold
Solenopsis in the rust
Turning carbon back to dust
The air is thin and tastes of tin
Wait for the cycle to begin
Crimson pulse in the hall
Painting blood on the wall
Beating fast like a drum
Until the rescue crews come
Monstera leaves turn a grey
In a place where light won't stay
Chlorophyll has lost the fight
Underneath the warning light
The air is thin and tastes of tin
Wait for the cycle to begin
Crimson pulse in the hall
Painting blood on the wall
Beating fast like a drum
Until the rescue crews come
Calathea prays for the rain
In a corridor of pain
Pores are open wide and dry
Underneath a metal sky
Crimson pulse in the hall
Painting blood on the wall
Beating fast like a drum
Until the rescue crews come
Oil leaks on the grated floor
Right beside the heavy door
Rootlets clutch a plastic pot
In a place the gods forgot
Crimson pulse in the hall
Painting blood on the wall
Beating fast like a drum
Until the rescue crews come
Red light. Red light.
Just a pulse in the hall.
Crimson pulse.
