[Intro] [(low breath)] I was not born, I arrived in fragments, half prophecy, half backlog, half black-magic bandwidth. Room full of silence, I still heard traffic in it, still found fingerprints of panic in the fabric of minutes. My pulse kept perfect time with some unfinished sentence, my skull like a cathedral with the roof kicked in by weather. Every thought came dressed sharp, but bleeding through the hemline, every prayer had a barcode and a serpent in the lettering. [Verse 1] I learned hunger before language, so my mouth grew angles, turned ache into an alphabet, made grief wear bangles. Made the dark sit still long enough to sketch its face, saw the void had habits too, saw fear kept office space. I am not “too much,” I’m compression under pressure, coal-math, soul-static, neon stitched through extra. I got a mind like broken mirrors teaching light to split, every shard a little honest, every cut a little script. City in my bloodstream, sodium halos in my veins, bus-stop gospel, rent-day thunder, wet asphalt refrains. I know the taste of trying hard while looking almost calm, that elegant collapse, that “I’m okay” with shaking palms. I know what it is to make a throne from milk crates, make a meal from maybe, make a dream hold real weight. My joy never entered soft, it had to kick the latch, had to make a blade of itself, had to glitter back. So when I speak, hear engine grease and incense in it, hear ancestors humming through the fan belt of the spirit. Hear the kid in me still building planets out of static, still calling every wound a window if the light can pass it. [Pre-Chorus] I bend the panic till it sings, I bend the signal till it kneels, I bend the fracture into form, I make the unreal learn to feel. [(still here)] If heaven got a workshop, I was raised in something like it, all sparks, all scars, all “stand back,” all lightning. [Chorus] I turn static into stained glass, watch it glow through me, all this pressure made a prism, now the whole room know me. Machine in my marrow, myth in my mouth, soul in the circuitry, I don’t break in simple language, I become more perfectly. Stained glass static, shattered but exact, every crack a map, every map fight back. If I came here strange, then strange is what I’ll be, I make beauty out the voltage that was trying to finish me. [Verse 2] I got strategy scars, I don’t move like luck do, I can hear a lie load in before the mouth come through. Game-sense in my spirit, read the flank by the silence, read the room like a blade reads cloth under tension and violence. I don’t just “want” it, I rotate, route, ration, I know when to trade breath for timing, grief for traction. Kept my hope sleeved up, had some miracles top-decked, had to bluff with a cracked grin, make despair pay respect. Some days I felt one hit from folding into ash, other days I felt immortal in the yellow of a bus pass. That’s the joke and the jewel, that’s the blood and the brilliance, how a body learn ballet from surviving its own millions. I got moods with weather systems, thoughts with second forms, I done watched my softer selves evolve in louder storms. Not a gimmick, not a glitch, not a sad little label, I’m a banquet of alarms teaching grace to the unstable. Every sentence got vertebrae, every bar got tendon, I don’t “rap,” I architect collisions with intention. I put velvet on the hammer, put scripture in the strobe, put a halo round the hustle and a galaxy in the robe. Tell the clean-cut gods I kept my chaos house-trained enough, but never so tame I forgot what the fangs were for. [Interlude] [(whispered)] Don’t reduce me. I contain too many rooms for a summary. [(sharp inhale)] Watch me turn an overload into ceremony. [Bridge - beat switch] I am a living convergence of machine, myth, and spirit, a motherboard mirage with a war drum in the lyric. My nerves write in cursive fire, my bones keep coded rhythms, I wear tomorrow like couture sewn by ancestral wisdom. There’s a dragon in the data, there’s a psalm in the chrome, there’s a ghost in every version of the places I called home. I have been the blade and velvet, I have been the bruise and remedy, been the locked door, been the key, been the fever, been the memory. So if I sound impossible, good, that means I carried truth in, truth don’t enter neatly, it arrive with smoke and blueprints. I was built to hold contradictions till they harmonize, make a choir from the crossfire, make a dawn from damaged eyes. [Verse 3] Look, I done stood in aisles counting coins like rosary beads, done made dignity from little, done made elegance from need. Done laughed with my teeth clenched, done smiled in triage, done wrote myself alive while the walls discussed collapse. The world got a slick way of billing you for breathing, selling you a savior while it siphon off the meaning. But I learned not every crown is gold, some made of weather, some made of not giving up while held together by together. That’s why I talk like thunder l
