Mag-boots by the rail

Mag-Boots Off isn't cute and it isn't a meet-cute with gravity. It's a command with a mirror ball for a witness and a rail for the pile. Four-on-the-floor. Falsetto stacked until the cargo-hold lights sweat orange. Disco that apologizes for wanting your body isn't disco — it's a ballad that stole shoes and forgot how to move.

Midnight Gravity started as spin-floor physics and turned into a sternum habit you can't stretch out. Heat Sink is for after a bad shift when talking would ruin the only honest hour left on the clock. Closer Don't Talk means exactly what it says with no poetic escape hatch. Bring skin. Leave your tomorrow paperwork in Don't Read My Manifest where paperwork goes to stop mattering.

Repo at Dawn is the comedy tension we earned — illegal mirror rig, maybe seized at first light, still worth every illegal sparkle. Play us on KLAG when you need the floor louder than your thoughts and softer than nobody. Four bars more. Then four more after that. The kick doesn't do endings polite.