Song Description
Ethel had been waiting on a Sydney train platform when a woman nearby reacted to something she saw on a digital billboard in front of them, as if she had seen something meant only for her. Ethel looked closer at the next ad. Similar tone, same design, but a timestamp in the corner did not belong.
"Ants on the Vine" begins there, as Ethel follows what others overlook. Quiet irregularities. Data that's out of place. A name that should not appear where it does.
Kinley.
What she uncovers suggests it is not a one off. It did not need to say anything. Its timing and location were enough to make the point. Access. You're watched. I can do this and more.
But why?
Lyrics
People write lines
Ants on the vine
Routines grind down black dirt white sign
Names drift quiet one fell through
Pushed out clean with no follow-through
Public logs
Staff updates slow
But the timeline snapped
When he let go
No breach no threat
But too exact
Like someone asked
And he stepped back
GitHub thread
README cracked
Three commits
One name stacked
Smart soft-spoken
Typed too flat
To be angry
Just coded facts
Blog was old
Just plain black
HTML
No SEO
and one mid-line:
Kinley said he'd help
He never said they used me
But you could tell
He knows
Self-serve the lie I'll stitch the cost
Fake the fight I'll rig the loss
I don't shift or sway I level ground
I built this bite from a heavier sound
We talked stack trace
Bug fix chat
One odd commit
Push then retract
Then one drop:
Kinley's name
Soft in tone
But tight in tact
I already knew
Spun stories early
Filed first
Made questions dirty
Accuse to mute
Reframe the scene
Tool of choice?
Distress routine
PI brief was framed around me
Routine coverage
Plausible need
Clipboard man
same shirt twice
Two locations
Watching the read
So I rode
Let the PI shoot
I watched Kinley
on his route
Lunch Four Seasons
No disguise
Like he doesn't care
Who buys the lies
I followed slow
Paused inside
Concierge took note
Didn't try
Walked out cool
Air felt strange
Didn't see his face
But the air had changed
Self-serve the lie I'll stitch the cost
Fake the fight I'll rig the loss
I don't shift or sway I level ground
I built this bite from a heavier sound
Home fast
Wrong loop
Still lost him
Half a block too loose
Knows the zone now
Narrow field
Map's been drawn
by what I yield
But Clipboard Man?
Didn't go home
Same step count
Same low tone
No folder
but a timed pause sharp
Plastic satchel
Pressed clasp
Then back to the car
Engine soft
Passenger seat
Radio off
Private club
Just above the rail
Members only
No paper trail
Not where you'd expect
A public planner
Twice in a week
With no event banner
Doesn't make him guilty
But it's not nothing
Just close enough
To feel like something
Self-serve the lie I'll stitch the cost
Fake the fight I'll rig the loss
I don't shift or sway I level ground
I built this bite from a heavier sound