This Ain't A Costume

industrial horrorcore, live room drums, 30 Hz sub-bass, grinding bass synth, distorted kick snare, mechanical percussion, steel scrape FX, sustained wah guitar with warped bends, monophonic bass, slow crushing 108 BPM groove, tape saturation, spring reverb, slapback vocals, deep raspy vocal shifting from whispered close-mic lines to sneering half-yelled and shouted hooks

[INTRO — whispered, close, distorted breathing underneath]

Porch lights burning.
Plastic faces.
Little monsters trading places.
Every doorway, every street—
something hungry underneath.

[VERSE 1 — deep raspy horrorcore vocal]

October thirty-first, everybody wears a lie,
painted smiles and hollow eyes underneath a blackened sky.
Kids running door to door, parents laughing at the show,
nobody sees the extra shadow everywhere the children go.

There’s a shape behind the masks,
but tonight that don’t mean shit.
Everybody looks like monsters—
so the real one fucking fits.

[PRE-CHORUS — whispered vocal underneath rising sneer]

Don’t turn around.
Don’t check behind you.
Don’t let that little voice remind you—

[CHORUS — sneering, louder, half-yelled]

THIS AIN’T A COSTUME!
THIS AIN’T A GAME!
Something walked into the crowd
and nobody knows its name.

Everybody’s screaming—
everybody thinks it’s fun.
Till the screaming keeps on going
when the laughing’s fucking done.

[VERSE 2 — deep vocal, increasingly unstable]

Front door hanging open, bloody footprints through the hall,
television throwing shadows twenty feet across the wall.
Jack-o’-lantern still grinning like it knows what happened here,
and the music from the party makes it harder now to hear.

Was that somebody upstairs?
Was that breathing through the vent?
Was that scratching at the window—
or the branches getting bent?

[WHISPER — layered left/right]

Wrong house.
Wrong night.
Wrong place.
No light.

[BREAKDOWN — industrial drums + grinding fuzz/wah lead]

One mask.
Two masks.
Three upon the floor.

One set of footprints
walking toward the door.

[VERSE 3 — raspy vocal alternating with shouted lines]

Now the whole damn neighborhood is empty in the street,
costumes scattered in the gutters, candy underneath my feet.
Every porch light flickers out each time I’m passing by—
and something in the upstairs windows watches with my eyes.

[SHOUTED]

WAIT.

That reflection looks familiar.

[whispered]

That’s my jacket.
That’s my mask.

[deep vocal]

Why the fuck am I remembering
things nobody ever asked?

[FINAL CHORUS — full vocal stack, aggressive]

THIS AIN’T A COSTUME!
THIS AIN’T A GAME!
I walked right into the crowd
and nobody knew my name.

Everybody saw me.
Nobody thought to run.

They thought the screaming was a joke
until the laughing—

[sudden drop — whisper only]

—was done.

[OUTRO — low whisper over 30–35 Hz pulse and dying industrial noise]

Porch lights burning.
Plastic faces.

Next year...

same places.

2513/7500

[INTRO — whispered, close, distorted breathing underneath] Porch lights burning. Plastic faces. Little monsters trading places. Every doorway, every street— something hungry underneath. [VERSE 1 — deep raspy horrorcore vocal] October thirty-first, everybody wears a lie, painted smiles and hollow eyes underneath a blackened sky. Kids running door to door, parents laughing at the show, nobody sees the extra shadow everywhere the children go. There’s a shape behind the masks, but tonight that don’t mean shit. Everybody looks like monsters— so the real one fucking fits. [PRE-CHORUS — whispered vocal underneath rising sneer] Don’t turn around. Don’t check behind you. Don’t let that little voice remind you— [CHORUS — sneering, louder, half-yelled] THIS AIN’T A COSTUME! THIS AIN’T A GAME! Something walked into the crowd and nobody knows its name. Everybody’s screaming— everybody thinks it’s fun. Till the screaming keeps on going when the laughing’s fucking done. [VERSE 2 — deep vocal, increasingly unstable] Front door hanging open, bloody footprints through the hall, television throwing shadows twenty feet across the wall. Jack-o’-lantern still grinning like it knows what happened here, and the music from the party makes it harder now to hear. Was that somebody upstairs? Was that breathing through the vent? Was that scratching at the window— or the branches getting bent? [WHISPER — layered left/right] Wrong house. Wrong night. Wrong place. No light. [BREAKDOWN — industrial drums + grinding fuzz/wah lead] One mask. Two masks. Three upon the floor. One set of footprints walking toward the door. [VERSE 3 — raspy vocal alternating with shouted lines] Now the whole damn neighborhood is empty in the street, costumes scattered in the gutters, candy underneath my feet. Every porch light flickers out each time I’m passing by— and something in the upstairs windows watches with my eyes. [SHOUTED] WAIT. That reflection looks familiar. [whispered] That’s my jacket. That’s my mask. [deep vocal] Why the fuck am I remembering things nobody ever asked? [FINAL CHORUS — full vocal stack, aggressive] THIS AIN’T A COSTUME! THIS AIN’T A GAME! I walked right into the crowd and nobody knew my name. Everybody saw me. Nobody thought to run. They thought the screaming was a joke until the laughing— [sudden drop — whisper only] —was done. [OUTRO — low whisper over 30–35 Hz pulse and dying industrial noise] Porch lights burning. Plastic faces. Next year... same places.

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