An organ chord opens like a church door, then a kick drum turns the nave into a dancefloor, and Madonna's voice comes in already confusing the two, prayer and wanting in one mouth.
The chords are almost embarrassingly pretty, a classic-rock lift that the singer nearly threw away for being too easy, and then the vocal arrives thin, nasal, delighted to be looked at.
A bass synthesiser draws a line as cold as a motorway at night, and Gary Numan's voice sits on it without warmth, repeating a comfort that sounds like a rule.
The drums begin as if a car had already been moving for an hour, a steady bright pulse with no verse to wait for, and a guitar lays long notes over it like weather changing on a motorway.