                
British psychedelic dark ambient, 1970s lo-fi analog texture. Detuned cold felt piano, dissonant bowed strings, warped tape hiss. Male baritone spoken-word monologue, world-weary and intimate. Eerie distant female laughter through a phone filter, sparse hollow soundscape, Lynchian suspense.
Male voice throughout.

[Intro] [Dark ambient synth drone with static interference] [Pause 3s]

[Verse 1] [Spoken word, intimate close-mic] Hello, Dad? Is that really you? Didn't think they let you use a phone... From out there.

Where are you, Dad? You sound... good. Did you leave the home? How’d you manage that? Don’t play coy with me. It’s not a game.

[Bridge] [Music swells, dissonant string screech] Are you with a woman? Someone with you, right now? [Sarcastic tone] She after your money, Dad? You’d better be careful.

[Break] [Sudden silence - only the sound of a distant furnace hum] [Pause 4s]

[Verse 2] [Whispered, absolute realization] Oh. Wait. It doesn't matter, does it? She can't take what you don't have. Probably because you are dead.

[Outro] [Music box melody, warped and slowing down] I was at the bedside. I saw you go. And then there was the fire. Year and a half of smoke. [Phone line cuts to static] [Fade to black]