[Verse 1] I don’t spit bars I fracture silence, bend iron in the heat of thought. Every word drips weight. Every phrase slices a layer off the world. Metaphors don’t decorate they bleed. My voice carries steel in its marrow, sharp enough to cut through the numbness. Time bends when I speak seconds obey, hours collapse into a single breath. Consonants crash like wreckage. Vowels burn like lightning. [Chorus] Blades in the language. Sparks in the flow. Every cut leaves a memory you cannot erase. I twist truth until it screams, until it shows its bones. Wordplay isn’t clever it’s survival. It’s the sound of a runaway train through the dark. [Verse 2] I’m a locksmith, and letters are my picks. I slip into locks you didn’t know existed. Each sentence a door, each phrase a code waiting to shatter. I bury silence inside sound. I drag despair into the light. Doubt is nothing but ash in the snare’s choke. Every mark of ink, every syllable, a detonation. [Bridge] The tongue is a guillotine raised, trembling, inevitable. Each pun detonates. Each phrase slices open the seams. The empire of noise falls in fragments of truth. [Final Chorus] Blades in the language. Sparks in the flow. Each cut is permanent. Each scar becomes a map. Wordplay is not a trick it is a weapon. I carry it through the fire, line by line. [Outro] Meaning survives at the edge of the blade.
