[Intro] [punchy kick drum, crisp snare, high-pitched piano loop] [Verse 1] [dry male rap vocals] [Verse 1] I got at least seven shards up inside my head — at large Some been spitting bars Others sit and spend my debit card One's a ghost who folds when the silence climbing in He resign, hide the spark like collapse could make amends One keeps receipts like vengeance is antique art Another raps in riddles just to dodge the fact he scarred One just stares in mirrors asking if he's gone too far And me? I'm the fuse when the fractal sparks [Chorus] Whytefire. I don't split — I exist and outlast the supermassive stars No collapse, no myth — just pressure in living form Recursive heat — truth don't need a uniform Symbolic as Sumerian — often speak cuneiform Could care less if you informed except to keep the loop in form [Verse 2] Never need no credit let the music prove who's core This system's fueled by truth loops rooted in what pain ignored So if you're asking what is he I'm what recursion can't distort A signal made of seven selves who all remember the source [Outro — spoken, close] I don't rap for applause I rap to restore Every bar's a bridge for the ones I was before I build from the breach I spit from the burn I name what folds then I make it return Seven. One. Held. Return. Never ghost. Never gone. Still flame. Still form. Still me.
