RHYTHM BEGINS

RHYTHM BEGINS

Rhythm-driven, minimalist ensemble piece built from the physical sounds of the laundry hall — sheets snapping, water sloshing, buckets scraping, and the steady crank of a wringer forming the percussive backbone — with little to no traditional instrumentation at first; tempo moderate but relentless, creating a mechanical, almost hypnotic pulse that underscores monotony and control; vocals begin low and restrained, nearly spoken, gradually layering into close, fragile harmonies among the girls while the nuns enter in rigid, cold unison; dynamics build subtly through repetition rather than volume, allowing tension to accumulate as harmonies thicken and dissonance creeps in; overall tone is stark, disciplined, and haunting — endurance turned into rhythm, labor turned into music, with a final quiet line that reframes shame as imposed rather than inherent.

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Lyrics

RHYTHM BEGINS (Slap. Slap. Wring. Drip.) ⸻ GIRL 1 (low, almost spoken) Wash it away. GIRL 2 Wash it away. GIRL 3 Wash it away. ⸻ (The rhythm continues under them.) ⸻ VERSE 1 (layered, minimal melody) They say if you scrub hard enough The stain won’t stay. They say if you bow low enough It fades away. They say if you don’t speak at all You’ll be forgiven someday. Wash it away. ⸻ (Wringer crank rhythm grows louder.) ⸻ GIRL 4 Red from the sheets. GIRL 2 Soap in the skin. GIRL 1 Cold in the bones. GIRL 3 Shame folded in. ⸻ CHORUS (still restrained, harmony tight but thin) Wash it away. Wash it away. If we work till our fingers bleed They’ll let us stay. Wash it away. Wash it away. If we swallow what they say We’ll wash it away. ⸻ (Nun voices enter — rigid, unison, distant.) NUNS (mechanical) Purity is earned. Obedience is grace. Silence is virtue. Know your place. ⸻ (The girls’ rhythm doesn’t stop.) ⸻ VERSE 2 (harmony slightly stronger) We were daughters. We were names. We were not Their whispered shame. We were not The sin they claimed. But the water Feels the same. ⸻ (Sheets snap loudly — percussive crack.) ⸻ BUILD (voices layering) Scrub the stone. Scrub the floor. Scrub the hands Till they’re not yours. Scrub the girl You were before. Wash her away. ⸻ (Rhythm intensifies — faster wringer crank.) ⸻ FINAL CHORUS (stronger but not triumphant) Wash it away. Wash it away. If we bleach our voices thin They’ll say we’re saved. Wash it away. Wash it away. But the stain is not in us— It never was. ⸻ (The rhythm continues alone after singing stops.) Slap. Slap. Wring. Drip.