        
[Music Intro: A repetitive, chugging 3-chord Status Quo boogie riff. It's tight, simple, and almost boringly steady.]

[Verse 1]
Well, it's five o'clock and I've finished work
I've been booked in for some therapy
Down the highway, foot down hard
Blast my horn if you get in my way
I'm sitting in a circle on a plastic chair
Some guy named Kevin's sharing how he cares
I'm biting my tongue, I'm counting to ten
Playing back all the ways this could have been...

[Pre-Chorus]
The door swings open, in the therapist walks
With a gentle smile and a couple of talks
I look him up, I look him down
And my vision starts to drown...
In brown suede, laces, thick damn sole...

[CHORUS - THE EXPLOSION]
[The rhythm section kicks into overdrive, but it's drowned out by a ferocious, atonal, feedback-drenched guitar line à la James Williamson. Vocals are a raw, shouted snarl.]
SENSIBLE SHOES!
I AIN'T TAKING NO ADVICE FROM YOU!
SENSIBLE SHOES!
YOUR BROWN SUEDE IS GIVING ME THE BLUES! (THE REDS!)

[Verse 2]
He's talking about "breathing" and "finding my space"
I'm just staring at the lace on his face
He says, "Tony, your anger, it's a silent cry"
I say, "Mister, your shoes are the reason I wanna die!"
Or maybe the reason I wanna make you die...

[Pre-Chorus]
My knuckles are white, my jaw is locked tight
The room is getting hot, the fluorescent light
It's all buzzing down to a single, fixed point
A fashion crime that's gonna break this joint!
Those brown suede, laces, thick damn sole...

[CHORUS - EVEN MORE UNHINGED]
[The guitar is more chaotic, the vocals more desperate and furious.]
SENSIBLE SHOES!
I AIN'T TAKING NO ADVICE FROM YOU!
SENSIBLE SHOES!
YOUR BROWN SUEDE IS GIVING ME THE BLUES! (THE REDS!)

[Bridge / Breakdown]
[The music pulls back to a tense, sparse version of the Status Quo riff, like a predator stalking. Spoken-sung vocals, seething with quiet menace.]
Now the room is silent... Kevin's started to cry.
The therapist is backed up against the "I Feel" wall.
He's fumbling for his phone, about to make a call.
And I'm just standing here... ten feet tall.

[Guitar Solo]
[Not a melodic solo, but a full-on, two-minute sonic assault. Pure Raw Power. It's the sound of the red mist. Feedback, screeching bends, chaotic noise. The rhythm section tries to keep the Quo boogie alive but is completely shredded by the guitar.]

[Final Chorus - Apocalyptic]
[The vocals are barely audible, more of a hoarse scream against the wall of noise.]
SENSIBLE SHOES!
[Feedback screech]
I AIN'T TAKING IT!
[Power chord crash]
SENSIBLE SHOES!
[Feedback screech]
YOUR BROWN SUEDE... AGGGHHHHH!

[Outro]
[The music collapses into a mess of feedback and a single, repeatedly crashing chord that slowly fades, like the last sputtering nerve of a rage-blackout.]
Sensible... sensible... sensible...
...shoes.