Plastic Mountain (Nothing’s Real but the Ache)

[Verse I – monotone, dead-eyed delivery over glitchy drum loop + angular bass riff] Cardboard bed, my kingdom cold, Wrapped in trash bags, silver and old. Nylon socks and a cough that stays, Dreaming through fumes and microwave haze. Poly tracksuit, color of shame, Face like a ghost, no soul, no name. I stare at flowers that never decay, Petals of vinyl in fiberglass clay. [Chorus – screamed, distorted vocals with crashing guitar and electronic blasts] I’m a painted clone on a plastic throne, Prayin’ to Metal Jesus in a wireframe home! Fiber-board mansion, resin fence pride— Watch me rot in high-def while the network dies! Yeah—climb that mountain of fake, Worship your numbers, until your brain breaks. Nothing’s real but the ache! NOTHING’S REAL BUT THE ACHE! [Verse II – numb, almost spoken over minimalist pulse and droning synth layer] Mirror cracked, but I still see A rented face that isn’t me. Lipstick, jewels—synthetic grace, Bought this mask to erase my face. Swipe my soul for a digital dream, Choke on WiFi and dopamine streams. Dead-end job, fake family tree, Earn your cage, then lose the key. [Bridge – fragmented, glitchy vocals, half-sung, half-muttered with broken beat] Click… click… consume… Smile for the algorithm gloom… Jockey for a throne of foam… This pixel cave is home… [Chorus – returns even louder, layered screams and glitch noise crescendo] I’m a painted clone on a plastic throne, Prayin’ to Metal Jesus in a wireframe home! Fiber-board mansion, resin fence pride— Watch me rot in high-def while the network dies! Yeah—climb that mountain of fake, Worship your numbers, until your brain breaks. NOTHING’S REAL BUT THE ACHE! Nothing’s real but the ache… [Outro – slow collapse into static, feedback, and robotic whisper] Look into the mirror... what do you see? A synthetic echo of who you should be. Somebody’s dream... nobody’s truth... Just fake flowers, and plastic youth...