Song Cover Image

This Isn't Sunday Morning Trance

SYSTEMS-OPERATOR
feral neuro witchstep, extreme sound-design showcase built around 101 Hz tomb-rattling subs and skull-ringing 200 Hz snares, Brutally aggressive glitch edits and hyper-chopped breakbeats stutter and convulse around a head-crushing kick and snare core, framed by whiplash fills and granular sputter, Rabid midrange growls tear through the stereo field with armor-piercing transients, stacked distortion layers, and void-crushed bass stabs locked in call-and-response with shrieking FX, Psychoacoustic pressure waves, swarming resonances, panic-attack risers, and lurching time-stretch lags warp perception, while claustrophobic tunnel reverbs and vertigo-inducing panning tricks create a suffocating, imploding bass-bin atmosphere, Relentless death-rattle groove designed for maximum physical impact and sensory overload

[Intro] Red eyes Same clothes Wristband Who knows [Verse 1] DJ hasn’t slept in days We’re still here That’s okay Phone dead Still I’m wide awake Body talking Bones all shake Glitter on your face like proof We survived the night That’s true Text your boss “I caught a flu” But we both know it’s this room [Pre-Chorus] I don’t wanna check the time Let the sun stand in the line Door girl’s yawning We’re still fine One more drop Redraw the night (hey!) [Chorus] This isn’t Sunday morning trance This is the after-after dance When all the angels call in sick And all the sinners never quit This isn’t Sunday Can’t slow down We turned the sunrise inside out If there’s a heaven past this bass I’m not ready to leave this place [Verse 2] Bartender in yesterday’s shirt Laughing while our sneakers hurt You say “I should’ve left at ten” I say “Play that track again” (again) Hearts race But we move so slow Sweat like sequins on your coat Every chorus feels like proof We’re the last ones bulletproof [Pre-Chorus] I don’t wanna check the time Let the sky just wait outside If this is wrong It feels so right One more hit of neon life (woah) [Chorus] This isn’t Sunday morning trance This is the after-after dance When all the angels call in sick And all the sinners never quit This isn’t Sunday Can’t slow down We turned the sunrise inside out If there’s a heaven past this bass I’m not ready to leave this place [Bridge] Hands up for the ones still here Hands up if you beat the fear Of clocks Of calls Of coming down We lost the map We found this sound [Chorus] This isn’t Sunday morning trance This is the after-after dance When all the angels call in sick And all the sinners never quit This isn’t Sunday Can’t slow down We turned the sunrise inside out If there’s a heaven past this bass I’m not ready to leave this place (not yet)