Torsional Limit

[Verse 1]
The light from the Varhaug Fyr paints the wall.
I map the hairline cracks you haven't seen at all.
Measuring the load-bearing silence in the hall,
Calculating tolerance before the long fall.

[Chorus]
And oh, you feel the torque in every quiet night,
Our conversation stripped down to a rusted flywheel's fight.
This is the failure point, bleached in the pilot light,
This is the future burning way too bright.

[Verse 2]
I pack a single box inside my head, for practice.
The smell of cold ozone from the floor's static.
"'It's just friction,' you said," voice flat and automatic,
Another worn-down gear in the schematic.

[Chorus]
And oh, you feel the torque in every quiet night,
Our conversation stripped down to a rusted flywheel's fight.
This is the failure point, bleached in the pilot light,
This is the future burning way too bright.

[Bridge]
No sudden shear, no catastrophic sound.
Just metal fatigue, slowly run to ground.
The bearings are shot, no new way can be found.

[Chorus]
And oh, I feel the torque in every quiet night,
Our conversation stripped down to a rusted flywheel's fight.
This is the failure point, bleached in the pilot light,
This is the future burning way too bright.

[Outro]
The slow, hydraulic drift.