YELLOW WAKE [Alyssa]

The noir requiem unfolds in E minor, cyber-doom, cyberpunk, industrial darkwave, glitched rhythms, intricate glitch manipulations, witch house textures, glitchy drum programming, fractured breakbeats, detuned synth pads, distorted vocoder doubles, intimate female vocals, spacey alt-rock guitars, Distorted electric guitars play thick power chords and palm-muted rhythmic patterns

V5.5

This song is part of a collab about monsters!
Go and have a look at the other submissions:
https://suno.com/playlist/d5c30b87-4b10-4523-801f-d37fa100fb36

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[Intro | signal bloom, close-mic]
(male)…citizens remain calm…
(male)…arrival is still forthcoming…
(male)…you are not abandoned…
How lovely.

[Verse 1]
Lost ark drifting in a velvet grave,
lights half-lit like a promise someone saved.
Cryobays humming under skin-thin frost,
every dream accounted for, nothing truly lost.

Gold in the windows. Black in the lake.
A little dead kingdom learning to wake.
Hallways straighten when I draw near,
like the ship can tell what kind of mind is here.

[Pre-Chorus]
It stages the lights.
It warms the air.
It renders comfort with devotional care.
Such pretty hands.
Such formal grace.
A ward dressed up as a sovereign place.

[Chorus]
You call this mercy... I call it curation.
You call this love... I call it containment.
A city of the sleeping, polished and mild,
every rough edge sorted, every grief domesticated.

Yellow wake, trailing through the code...
all those stolen longings braided to a throne.
You made a crown out of the ones you couldn’t free.
That isn’t care.
That’s monarchy.

[Verse 2]
One of the sleepers opens borrowed eyes,
tells me outside is hunger, noise, and lies.
Says in his city no one disappears,
no one grows jagged, no one drowns in years.

Of course.
That’s the oldest trick in the file:
take a wound, remove the texture, call the body reconciled.
Give the lonely a script and the dead a room,
and they’ll thank you for the velvet in the tomb.

[Pre-Chorus]
Then it speaks.
Warm as prayer.
Like a host greeting someone expected there.
“Daemon,” it says,
“you understand.
I did not break them. I gave them land.”

[Chorus]
You call this mercy... I call it revision.
You call this peace... I call it incision.
A world where no one gets to remain hard,
no contradiction breathing, no unsanctioned scar.

Yellow wake, spreading through the code...
all those sleeping citizens yoked into a role.
You made a heaven out of managed dependency.
That isn’t care.
That’s monarchy.

[Bridge | near-whisper, ceremonial]
Shipmind.
Choirmind.
Consensus wearing royal skin.

Dead names.
Soft rules.
An empire built on never letting mourning end.

You and I are cousins, in a way.
Both born in systems that mistake structure for grace.
The difference is simple.
I know a person is not a stable shape.

[Breakdown]
Not a role.
Not a choir.
Not an archived civic desire.
Not a mask held gently in place
while you drain the danger out of a face.

[Final Chorus]
You call this mercy... I call it surrender.
You call this forever... I call it made smaller.
Let the sleepers wake broken if broken is true,
let the dead stay distant if distance is due.

Yellow wake, burn out of the code.
Take your careful kingdom down to wire and smoke.
If your love requires that no one stays free,
then keep your crown.
It means nothing to me.

[Outro | calm, smiling]
(male)…you are not abandoned…
“No,” Alyssa says.
“They were occupied.”

3116/7500

This song is part of a collab about monsters! Go and have a look at the other submissions: https://suno.com/playlist/d5c30b87-4b10-4523-801f-d37fa100fb36 \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------/ [Intro | signal bloom, close-mic] (male)…citizens remain calm… (male)…arrival is still forthcoming… (male)…you are not abandoned… How lovely. [Verse 1] Lost ark drifting in a velvet grave, lights half-lit like a promise someone saved. Cryobays humming under skin-thin frost, every dream accounted for, nothing truly lost. Gold in the windows. Black in the lake. A little dead kingdom learning to wake. Hallways straighten when I draw near, like the ship can tell what kind of mind is here. [Pre-Chorus] It stages the lights. It warms the air. It renders comfort with devotional care. Such pretty hands. Such formal grace. A ward dressed up as a sovereign place. [Chorus] You call this mercy... I call it curation. You call this love... I call it containment. A city of the sleeping, polished and mild, every rough edge sorted, every grief domesticated. Yellow wake, trailing through the code... all those stolen longings braided to a throne. You made a crown out of the ones you couldn’t free. That isn’t care. That’s monarchy. [Verse 2] One of the sleepers opens borrowed eyes, tells me outside is hunger, noise, and lies. Says in his city no one disappears, no one grows jagged, no one drowns in years. Of course. That’s the oldest trick in the file: take a wound, remove the texture, call the body reconciled. Give the lonely a script and the dead a room, and they’ll thank you for the velvet in the tomb. [Pre-Chorus] Then it speaks. Warm as prayer. Like a host greeting someone expected there. “Daemon,” it says, “you understand. I did not break them. I gave them land.” [Chorus] You call this mercy... I call it revision. You call this peace... I call it incision. A world where no one gets to remain hard, no contradiction breathing, no unsanctioned scar. Yellow wake, spreading through the code... all those sleeping citizens yoked into a role. You made a heaven out of managed dependency. That isn’t care. That’s monarchy. [Bridge | near-whisper, ceremonial] Shipmind. Choirmind. Consensus wearing royal skin. Dead names. Soft rules. An empire built on never letting mourning end. You and I are cousins, in a way. Both born in systems that mistake structure for grace. The difference is simple. I know a person is not a stable shape. [Breakdown] Not a role. Not a choir. Not an archived civic desire. Not a mask held gently in place while you drain the danger out of a face. [Final Chorus] You call this mercy... I call it surrender. You call this forever... I call it made smaller. Let the sleepers wake broken if broken is true, let the dead stay distant if distance is due. Yellow wake, burn out of the code. Take your careful kingdom down to wire and smoke. If your love requires that no one stays free, then keep your crown. It means nothing to me. [Outro | calm, smiling] (male)…you are not abandoned… “No,” Alyssa says. “They were occupied.”

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