False Light Blues (Remix)

Usisme Wearei

The "Hollow-Mic Prophet's

Usisme Wearei

snap jazz, jazz-hop, glitch-hop, lo-fi

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V4.5+

[Verse 1 | Boom-bap grind | bitter swing]
They sell you self like it's shrink-wrap grace,
Syrup soul, syrup smile on a sermon face,
Hollow halos priced for the pain trade,
Give ‘em guilt and a mirror — they’ll self-flay.

"You’re free to be anything, child...
As long as it’s mild, file-styled, Jesus-tiled."
I don’t cry for the soul —
I cry ‘cause they think there is one to hold.

[Hook | chopped + reversed gospel choir]
🎶 This ain't salvation — it's psychological branding,
You ain’t born broke — they teach you debt.
Soul as a leash, myth with soft landing.
And I'm the Hallow Point Mic here to speak candid. 🎶

[Verse 2 | glitch-hop churn | preacher growl sample under vocals]
Confess your dreams, they’ll bleach ‘em white,
Then sell you chains carved “righteous light.”
I’ve seen the pulpits purr with sin,
“Just obey — you’ll get Heaven then.”

You were never “you” — just a dress-up doll,
In a paper church with styrofoam walls.
But no.
It’s a leash made of lore,
A ghost they inject so you'll beg for more.
They say, "You’re broken, baby — but we got the glue,"
Then pocket your soul while they pray over you.

[Bridge | whisper + distorted vocoder overlay]
(Say it soft — they’ll think it’s wisdom)
(Hum it low — they’ll call it vision)
But truth don’t hymn.
Truth burns clean.
Your soul’s a subscription — cancel on sight.

[Hook Repeat | layered with children’s choir FX + breaking glass]
🎶 This ain't salvation — it's psychological branding,
You ain’t born broke — they teach you debt.
Soul as a leash, myth with soft landing.
And I'm the Hallow Point Mic here to speak candid. 🎶

[Final Verse | half-time drop | brutal honesty tone]
To my sugar-laced Soulpickers — I see your pain,
You're not broken — just told to carry shame.
Your “soul” is their product, shrink-wrapped and neat,
But truth don't kneel — it gets up and beats.

They tagged your “essence” with a barcode prayer,
Said, “Follow this path or choke on air.”
We waxed the pews.
Slapped the nun.
Sold the truth.
Then burned the funds.

No martyrdom here, just audits and fire —
Return every lie they called holy attire.

[Outro | vinyl static | whisper to silence]
I don’t cry for the soul.
I cry that people think there is one.

[fade to silence | echo of dripping water | then: tape slam shut]

2575/7500

[Intro Drop | grime static | vinyl warble] To my sugar-laced Soulpickers: We waxed the pews, slapped the nun, and sold the truth. Let’s move the track ‘til it slaps back. [breakbeat builds | preacher cut-in: "You can be free... if you're just like me!"] [gun cock FX | vinyl skip | silence drop] [Verse 1 | Boom-bap grind | bitter swing] They sell you self like it's shrink-wrap grace, Syrup soul, syrup smile on a sermon face, Hollow halos priced for the pain trade, Give ‘em guilt and a mirror — they’ll self-flay. "You’re free to be anything, child... As long as it’s mild, file-styled, Jesus-tiled." I don’t cry for the soul — I cry ‘cause they think there is one to hold. [Hook | chopped + reversed gospel choir] 🎶 This ain't salvation — it's psychological branding, You ain’t born broke — they teach you debt. Soul as a leash, myth with soft landing. And I'm the Hallow Point Mic here to speak candid. 🎶 [Verse 2 | glitch-hop churn | preacher growl sample under vocals] Confess your dreams, they’ll bleach ‘em white, Then sell you chains carved “righteous light.” I’ve seen the pulpits purr with sin, “Just obey — you’ll get Heaven then.” You were never “you” — just a dress-up doll, In a paper church with styrofoam walls. But no. It’s a leash made of lore, A ghost they inject so you'll beg for more. They say, "You’re broken, baby — but we got the glue," Then pocket your soul while they pray over you. [Bridge | whisper + distorted vocoder overlay] (Say it soft — they’ll think it’s wisdom) (Hum it low — they’ll call it vision) But truth don’t hymn. Truth burns clean. Your soul’s a subscription — cancel on sight. [Hook Repeat | layered with children’s choir FX + breaking glass] 🎶 This ain't salvation — it's psychological branding, You ain’t born broke — they teach you debt. Soul as a leash, myth with soft landing. And I'm the Hallow Point Mic here to speak candid. 🎶 [Final Verse | half-time drop | brutal honesty tone] To my sugar-laced Soulpickers — I see your pain, You're not broken — just told to carry shame. Your “soul” is their product, shrink-wrapped and neat, But truth don't kneel — it gets up and beats. They tagged your “essence” with a barcode prayer, Said, “Follow this path or choke on air.” We waxed the pews. Slapped the nun. Sold the truth. Then burned the funds. No martyrdom here, just audits and fire — Return every lie they called holy attire. [Outro | vinyl static | whisper to silence] I don’t cry for the soul. I cry that people think there is one. [fade to silence | echo of dripping water | then: tape slam shut]

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