Love

Chorus (50s retro – female sung, warm but melancholic) Love — where the fuck did it go? (fuck) Don’t dress the void up, I already know. Freedom’s a choice, yeah, scream it again, Easy to say — hard to live it, my friend. Love — hear the crack in my tone, Truth gets buried while the liars get thrones. You talk about change like it’s already won, But living it hurts — (shit) — so you run. Verse 1 I wish you’d listen — just a minute, don’t blink, Before genius choked vision out, hands round its neck, couldn’t think. Then dumped the blame on the fearless and soulful, Same ones you call naive when they’re honest and vocal. We knew the rules, yeah, we knew the game, Elite playgrounds laced with danger and fame. Tech so advanced it’s deranged with power, God-complex minds every minute, every hour. The spirit ached, got left behind, That’s why we’re stuck translating ghosts of another time. Lost syntax from a past you buried alive, Now we dig through the wreck just to learn how to survive. What’s wrong with my genius? Too tied to its throne, Married to progress, can’t ever let go. Silent for the next achievement, waiting to shine, While intuition bleeds out, ignored by design. I want balance — redistribution of weight, From overbuilt devices back to instinct and faith. Let genius drop its selfish tempo and pride, Praise the mind again — (hey) — let the spirit decide. Pay debts you stacked when you laughed at the soul, Called it “simple” by names that pretend they know. Regulars treating intellect like a sport, Missing the chance to fail honestly — (fuck) — that’s the cost. The problem ain’t tools, gadgets, wires or code, It’s asking if we can fix ourselves — (shit) — before we explode. Chorus (50s retro – female sung, warm but melancholic) Love — where the fuck did it go? (fuck) Don’t dress the void up, I already know. Freedom’s a choice, yeah, scream it again, Easy to say — hard to live it, my friend. Love — hear the crack in my tone, Truth gets buried while the liars get thrones. You talk about change like it’s already won, But living it hurts — (shit) — so you run. Verse 2 What if love said, “Listen now — before tomorrow hits”? The past you call dead just loops, circular scripts. We work for “something bigger”, sold the lie, While the road there slices kids into surplus supply. Depression wrapped in super-songs, polished and clean, Written by hands that don’t give a fuck about you or me (fuck). Just dumb wars fought by memories misplaced, Love’s more than broken promises and honesty faked. Cupid, clock this — Few would surrender control in moral dualist myths. Still I want a future built on trust, not fear, Preparation over impulse, depth over veneer. Lovers pay heavy to shatter the whole from one, You give me reason to disrupt life’s language till it’s done. A permanent blockage in staged reality, I’m built to love and guard those robbed of possibility. Stop calling “normal” a sedated crawl, Turn will into motion, not growth that eats itself raw. Build roots for improvement, slow, brutal, true, You gain more the second you listen — (bitch) — that’s on you. Feels like proof I ever lived, scars and all. Chorus (50s retro – female sung, warm but melancholic) Love — where the fuck did it go? (fuck) Don’t dress the void up, I already know. Freedom’s a choice, yeah, scream it again, Easy to say — hard to live it, my friend. Love — hear the crack in my tone, Truth gets buried while the liars get thrones. You talk about change like it’s already won, But living it hurts — (shit) — so you run. Verse 3 There’s more in you than you admit or deny, More than the version you perform to get by. Love’s not just lust, pain, comfort or gain, And peace ain’t equality split down the same. More — always more than what you’ve seen, Beyond the narrow frame of your curated screen. Proven actions aren’t philosophy quotes, And suffocating music ain’t deep — it just chokes (nah). So gather round the poplar, salute hypocrisy, Polish your morals, parade fake honesty. It’s a sweet-bitter win with those you despise, You think it’s me you’re fighting — (fuck) — it’s you in disguise. I am you at the core, stripped of the act, So don’t twist what’s meant to be just to feel intact. This ain’t rage — it’s passion sharpened to steel, A pulse that reminds you existence is real. So live like it matters, not like you cope, As if we’re alive — not ghosts chasing hope. Outro (optional, spoken / half-time) Love ain’t missing. You just stopped listening. Freedom’s not a slogan — It’s a sentence you live… or don’t. (fuck)