[HOOK — chant, super sticky, crowd doubles] It don’t fall— it gets “handled”. It don’t break— it gets “managed”. Looks fine— ’cause it’s masked up. That’s the trick— that’s the damage. [VERSE 1 — half-sung rap, long bars] The city still works like a smile after the tooth is gone, screens like altar candles, everybody begging to be seen by something that can’t love back. You hear hunger in polite voices— “just checking in”, “hope you’re well”, words folded neat like napkins over plates that never held a meal. We keep lights on so we don’t admit what’s missing, keep the volume high so silence doesn’t testify. A thousand tiny conveniences, each one a quiet surrender, until your life feels like a receipt you never agreed to sign. [HOOK — bigger, crowd shouts] It don’t fall— it gets “handled”. It don’t break— it gets “managed”. Looks fine— ’cause it’s masked up. That’s the trick— that’s the damage. [VERSE 2 — tighter cadence, reese answers last word of lines] Watch apologies now— not for harm, for inconvenience, watch attention traded like contraband, five seconds at a time. Kindness routed through branding, grief needing to be “relatable” to earn a chair. The streets are clean in the rich parts— the dirt moved indoors. It lives in lungs, in sleep, in the flinch that shows up before the sound does. Somewhere a corridor hums. Somewhere a phone won’t stop. Somewhere a person gets translated into “case / metric / outcome” until their name feels like a rumor you’re not supposed to repeat. [DEAD AIR — no drums, only sub + voice (radio-filter), then distortion] It doesn’t fall in one day. It thins. It frays. It learns to look normal. [BRIDGE — rebuild, post-punk stabs, vocal gets more feral] We call it progress when a human is replaced by a menu. We call it efficiency when nobody has to look you in the eye. We call it freedom when the cage is invisible and you decorate it yourself so it feels like choice. Over-informed, under-held. Instructions for everything— except how to stay soft without being taken apart. So we harden. We optimize. We joke. We get fluent in coping. [FINAL HOOK — biggest, gang doubles, last line held] It don’t fall— it gets “handled”. It don’t break— it gets “managed”. Looks fine— ’cause it’s masked up. That’s the trick— that’s the damage.
