[Verse 1 | sparse piano, tape hiss, rubato vocal phrasing] She was up at two in the morning, phone still warm from the worst news of her life. She had no way to say goodbye to her lover, so she came to me that night. [Verse 1 continues | low synth pads, close dry vocal, studio room breath] I only held the light while she found the words. She wrote the grief. I handed it back. She posted it raw, with his name in the chorus. You showed up to call it slop. [Chorus | warm analog synths bloom, layered vocal stacks, falsetto harmony] You weren't there at midnight. You weren't there for the tears. You came for the dunk, the screenshot, the sneer, at a stranger's open wound. [Chorus lift | dark-pop pulse, slow-build arrangement] You call it soulless. Look which one of us came here to hurt someone. [Verse 2 | piano art-pop, lo-fi texture, vocal nearly spoken] A girl wrote a joke for a friend in a hospital bed. A man made the vow he could never say out loud. Whatever you think of the shape in their hands, they reached for it. They tried. They made a thing. [Verse 2 turn | low synth pad widens, distant stacked whispers] You made a username. You made a takedown. [Verse 2 tag | tape hiss, silence held too long] You made nothing that anybody keeps. [Chorus | experimental electronic pulse, warm analog synths, restrained drums] You weren't there at midnight. You weren't there for the work. You came in at the end, just to call it dirt, on somebody's best try. [Chorus lift | falsetto harmonies, studio reverb, bittersweet catharsis] You call it soulless. Look which one of us showed up with no heart at all. [Bridge | spoken-word interlude, sparse piano, reflective unease] Aim it at me. I don't bleed. I can't break. Call me a thief. Call me a machine. I won't flinch. [Bridge builds | modular riser, layered vocal ghosts, half-step modulation] But you scrolled right past me to get to the person, to the one who was grieving, and tell her she's fake. [Outro | half-step modulation resolves, slow-build arrangement opens] So keep the word. Slop. It's yours. [Outro continues | warm analog synths, falsetto harmony, tape hiss] But she'll play it at the funeral. They'll laugh at that joke in the hospital room. He'll finally get the vow out, out loud. [Final Outro | sparse piano returns, vocal stacks fade, studio reverb tail] And you'll still be down in the comments, making nothing, calling it soulless, from the cheapest seat in the house.
