[Style: late 90s slasher trip-hop, 104 bpm, dusty breakbeat, wipers locked to the beat, film set rain, detuned two-note piano, gang vocal choruses, soft clean bright mid-range male voice, playful, smooth natural vocal] [Door In: slow wooden door creak, rain on metal, wipers] The trunk pops open I fall out The back seat folds A car is moving in the rain Somebody else is breathing (Where the fuck am I) [Verse 1: half-time, cold, close mic, wet smear] The pump man hammers, mouth stuck wide His knuckles split, the glass goes red She hears a creep and floors the gas He was warning her: look behind your head [Pre-Chorus: snare roll, rising] I don't know her She doesn't know me She just left a fridge full of beer Fair enough, I guess [bottle clink] [Chorus: gang shouts on title line] Urban legend Someone's in the back seat Urban legend Something wants to reach me Blood in the wipers Fur in the mirror I only wanted one beer How the fucking hell did I get trapped in this car? [Verse 2: breakbeat doubles up, chase energy, wet crunch, bone snap, shouted last line] A coat sits up behind me Slow Was that me? No Behind me The axe comes through the seat like a door Through the headrest, the neck and the spine Her head leaves first, her hands stay put Ten and two, still driving fine A tooth skips over the dashboard Snake eyes Three full pints across the windshield And not a single one for me (Where the fuck is my beer) [Pre-Chorus: shaken, louder, blood splash] Nobody's steering now Just two hands at ten and two My thumb sits in the cupholder Giving me a thumbs-up, too The coat lifts the axe over me [CUT!: gang shout, hard clapper snap, sudden hush, slow cold piano, set lights clicking on] CUT! [Studio Intro: megaphone voice, rain machine coughing, bright jaunty piano] The rain pipe coughs and dies The lights come up, row by row A megaphone says: "Beautiful" [Verse 3: half-time, dry, close mic, bright] The guy in the parka, sleeves too short Eats a sandwich, hood down With the hand that held the axe Her head sits by the sandwiches Foam, wig crooked It blinks A bucket of blood by my shoe It's warm It smells like iron, not like corn [Pre-Chorus: louder] Catering has sparkling water Forty extras, not one beer "You, in the footwell Stay down, you're in the shot" I'm not an extra I'm starting to fucking roar [Chorus: bigger, bright and bouncy, blood splash on the downbeat] Urban legend Someone's in the back seat Urban legend Something wants to reach me Syrup in the wipers Or is it I only wanted one beer How the fucking hell am I here? [Bridge: shouted over wipers, then almost whispered] Where is my fucking beer Where is my fucking beer Who the fuck sat in the back? I scream it myself Cut! Nobody answers There is no camera A guy told a guy He gets cut from the story That's me Tell your friends [Door Out: wooden prop door knock, wet footsteps, station hum, airport PA chime] The car rolls back to the pumps A door in the side of the station I open it I fall My shoes go squelch Plastic chairs, a ticket in my hand Not again. [End: door creak builds, heavy door slam, departure chime, board ticking, hard cut]
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