[Intro] [Gritty, low-tuned classical guitar fingerpicking, slightly out-of-tune] [Heavy, claustrophobic breathing right against the microphone] [Vinyl crackle swells] [Verse 1] [Melodic, vulnerable, intimate whisper] The ink is dry, the final cut is made The fire quits like a light in the shade For months and months I was burning the wick Now staring at nothing is making me sick [Guitar stops abruptly] The scaffolding's down and the project is done And I’m standing exposed in a cold morning sun And a terrifying question starts blinking in my eye... [Breathless gasp] Who the fuck am I? [Verse 2] [Sudden explosion of fast, aggressive flamenco guitar rhythm, slapping the wood] [Vocal delivery accelerates into frantic, intense rap, spitting the words] See, the dopamine drops and it rots in the gut The factory’s closed and the eyelids are shut But the machinery’s screaming, it's chewing the gear A violent withdrawal from a winter of fear I’m a slave to the chase, I'm a slave to the strain I weaponised trauma to monetize pain! My head loops inward, it looks for a threat Because it has nothing to build for me yet Just wide-open space and a brain on the loose Tightening, biting the knot of the noose I’m addicted to panic, the mechanics are tragic I conjured the demons and called it my magic I dragged up my shadows, I gave them a stage Now the monsters are free, but I’m stuck in the cage! [Chorus] [Guitar switches to a heavy, driving, melancholic indie-rock strum] [Vocals open up into a soaring, raw, emotional belt, straining the voice] Oh, it’s a terrifying quiet when the battery dies! I’m a corpse in a mirror just staring at eyes! I traded my sanity, sold it for parts, Now I’m trapped in the stomach of dead, rotting arts! Falling right into the black that I made— The creative psychosis, watching it fade! [Bridge] [Music stops completely. Silence except for a low, ominous bass drone] [Spoken word dialogue, cold, cynical delivery] FUCK! FUCK! SHIT! BOLLOCKS! Look at the floor. Look at your skin. Look at the state of the room that you're in. You thought that this project would make you feel whole? You traded your flesh for a ghost that you stole. You dug up your sickness to make it look grand, Now you're a shell with a gun in your hand. [Spoken response: rapid, defensive, desperate tone] But I had to create it, I had to be brave I dug out the art just to step from the grave I gave it my blood and I gave it my sleep I planted the seeds that I wanted to reap [First voice: mocking, aggressive cadence] But look at the harvest, it’s rotten and dead The safety net dropped and it broke in your head The structure is gone and the bandwidth is wide So what are we going to tear up inside? You're not a creator, you're just an addict And your psychological baseline is tragic. [Second voice: building to a frantic, tearful scream] I just wanted peace from the noise in my chest! I built a new world just to give it some rest! But the ceiling is thin and the walls are caving in— [Scream] And the darkness is drifting right back from within! [Chorus] [Full musical climax, guitar roars back with maximum fury, heavy strings buzzing] [Vocals completely blown out and desperate] Oh, it’s a terrifying quiet when the battery dies! I’m a corpse in a mirror just staring at eyes! I traded my sanity, sold it for parts, Now I’m trapped in the stomach of dead, rotting arts! Falling right into the black that I made— Watching the blood of the masterpiece fade! [Outro] [Guitar strings are aggressively muted with a dull, hollow thud] [Vocal delivery falls into a flat, emotionless, catatonic monotone] Just a disorienting limbo Stuck inside an empty echo The final scene... Lost in the quiet machine. [Tape stop effect] [Abrupt silence]
