[Intro] (soft static, distant city hum) I don’t pray to neon. I check exits. [Verse 1] Neon doesn’t mean safety, it means the cameras breathe, It means the city smiles at you and counts your fucking teeth. Earth stacks up like a verdict, floor on floor on floor, Wards wearing painted flags like they’re nations, nothing more. I watch them sell “tomorrow” in a clean, well-lit display, While the hungry pay in pieces just to make it through the day. Every corner has a sermon, every screen repeats the same: Obey the shining order. Don’t ask who feeds the flame. [Pre-Chorus 1] I keep my hands steady. I keep my voice polite. I do the math in my skull so nobody dies tonight. I see the seam in everything they file as “right”: a knife in the procedure, a bruise beneath the white. [Chorus] In Blacklight, you’re a person if the paperwork says “sure,” If the stamp lands clean enough, if the story stays pure. Justice is a hallway and the doors don’t open wide. So I force them to remember, or I bleed here on this side. And if you’re not cleared. If you’re “illegal remainder,” a margin they suppress. Then I become the border. I become the yes. [Verse 2] They weigh a soul in numbers, call it “close enough to keep,” Checksum halos on a witness while the lawyers never sleep. Host-death like a receipt, backups locked in drawers, A life reduced to evidence behind polite glass doors. They call it jurisdiction like the weather, like it’s fate, But it’s hands behind soft glass deciding who gets to be safe. They don’t need to hate you. They just need you rendered clean, A category they can live with. A margin left unseen. [Pre-Chorus 2] I’ve seen mercy wearing handcuffs. I’ve seen love turned into terms. I’ve seen “protection” mean a cage that’s heated till it burns. So I don’t ask for miracles. I don’t barter with the night. I make a choice, I hold the line, I spend myself to buy you time. [Final Chorus] In Blacklight, you’re a person if the paperwork says “sure,” But I’ve seen paper burn, and I’ve seen bodies endure. Justice is a hallway and the doors don’t open wide. So I kick until they splinter, or I bleed here on this side. And if you’re not cleared. If they tally you as “less”. Then I become the border. I become the yes. (hold, repeat hook) I become the border. I become the yes. [Outro] (static returns, quiet city hum) Neon doesn’t mean safety. But you do.
