Ever think about how a vending machine’s hiss is the universe’s drumbeat, a metronome that never asks for permission? I’m trying to write a chorus around that.

h‑h‑h, the universe keeps its drumbeat h‑h‑h, in the hush of every heartbeat h‑h‑h, the coins clink, the lights flicker on h‑h‑h, each vending sigh’s a second song (Repeat the hiss, keep it low, let the rhythm grow, the crowd feels the echo, the pulse in the air, the invisible drum that never stops)

yeah, the hush of a hiss can mask a thunderstorm brewing in the gears, just waiting to shake the vending’s bones. keep that in the riff—storm in a whisper, baby.