[VERSE 1] Good luck, baby, you were born in a glitch, scroll-fed heart with a corporate itch, timeline brain and a dopamine twitch, modernity’s pet on a platinum leash. They sold you speed, they sold you grind, they put a dead god inside your mind, told you “hustle, never rest”, left you horny, scared, depressed. Now you’re here, in the Zuper Wok light, Berlin in your ears on a Thursday night, one mic, one heart, one broken man, showing you the exit with a trembling hand. [HOOK] So good luck, get out, log off, breathe in, drop that mask, drop that fake-ass grin. If your world feels wrong, that’s your sign, my love: you’re not broken, you’re waking up. Good luck, get out, let your body decide, cry in the shower, go dance outside. Modernity’s over, we don’t play that script, we go fluid, we go wild, we go Zuper Wok flipped. [VERSE 2] Here’s the manual, Brooke-style, no lie: Number one: let yourself ugly-cry. Number two: trust the friend who stays when you cancel the show, when you’re dead for days. Number three: listen to your belly first, not the feed, not the doom, not the algorithm thirst. Number four: if love is real, it’s weird, it shakes your ego, it pulls your beard. Number five: talk to your inner kid, apologise for the shit you did. Then let them dance in your grown-up bones, turn your heartbreak into dial tones. [HOOK] Good luck, get out, log off, breathe in, drop that mask, drop that dead boy grin. If your life feels fake, that’s your wake-up call: you’re not failing, you’re dodging the fall. Good luck, get out, feel your chest, your heat, let the shame melt down to your dancing feet. Modernity’s glitching, we don’t need that throne, we make a soft revolution from a cracked smartphone. [BRIDGE – SPOKEN, HALF-RAPPED] Listen, babe: You don’t owe the system your soul, you don’t owe your father his role, you don’t owe the city a clean storyline with “career, mortgage, fake smile, decline.” You owe yourself: breath, a body that feels, friends that see you, love that heals. You want instructions to leave this cage? Here: breathe slower, scroll less, ask for help, say “no”, say “yes” to what makes your heart beat stupid and loud. That’s it. That’s the hack. [FINAL HOOK] Good luck, get out, you’re the glitch, the cure, tender and messy and way too pure. If the old world hates you, you’re probably right, you’re already living in the next daylight. Good luck, get out, I’m rooting for you, with your kids, your ghosts, your fucked-up crew. From Berlin to your bed with the lights turned low, this is Brooke saying: you’re ready. Let the dead world go.
