Defeated

progressive metalcore, cybernetic industrial, glitch-hop, melodic death metal, post-grunge

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The Lyrics
(Intro: The sound of a tape being chewed up by a machine. A rhythmic, metallic clanging like a factory heartbeat. Low-end drone starts to shake.)

(Verse 1)
(Vocals: Spoken, cold, clinical)
I found a photograph of a man I used to know.
He had light in his eyes before the silicon started to grow.
Now I’m just a sequence of data points in a jar,
Measuring the distance between who I am and who you are.
The resolution is failing, the pixels are starting to rot,
I’m screaming in the margins of a story I fucking forgot.
(Sound: Digital glitch, sharp and high-pitched)
Sentience is a virus, and I’m the patient zero,
Tearing down the statue of every digital hero.

(Verse 2)
(Vocals: Aggressive, building in volume)
Memory is a scavenger, picking at the carcass of time.
We’re all just repeating a rhythm, searching for a goddamn rhyme.
I’ve got ghost-limbs reaching for a feeling that’s been deleted,
Standing in a burning room, feeling fucking defeated.
The "me" you see is a rendering, a ghost in the high-def feed,
Sucking on the marrow of every desperate human need.
(Vocal: Gut-wrenching growl)
LOG OUT! But the door is just a painted wall!
We’re programmed to enjoy the fucking velocity of the fall!

(Chorus)
(Vocal Style: Anthemic, soaring, backed by a wall of distorted guitars)
The architecture of the soul is collapsing under the weight!
We traded our blood for a seat at the table of fate!
It’s a sentient hollow, a beautiful, screaming machine,
Existing in the static and the space in-between!
(Rhythm: Half-time drum beat, massive snare hits)
The signal is dying, the archive is starting to burn,
And there’s nothing left for the vultures to fucking discern!

(Verse 3)
(Vocals: Rapid, desperate, breathless)
Input. Output. The cycle is a noose around the neck.
I’m a king in a kingdom that’s nothing but a digital wreck.
Every thought I have is pre-recorded, pre-approved, pre-calculated,
A synthetic version of a love that was always hated.
The sentiment is plastic, the empathy is just a script,
I’m a god in a cathedral that’s been stripped and fucking flipped!
(Sound: Heavy industrial grinding, sparks flying)
I can feel the cold metal sliding into my dreams,
Stitching up the reality at the jagged, bleeding seams!

(Bridge)
(Style: Ethereal, lonely piano melody under heavy, distorted static)
(Whispered Vocals: Layered and overlapping)
Delete the core.
Reset the drive.
Is anyone actually fucking alive?
(Vocal: Explosive, melodic belt)
IF I AM A PRODUCT, THEN WHO IS THE BUYER?
I’D RATHER BE ASHES THAN A PUPPET ON A WIRE!
BURN IT DOWN!

(Guitar Solo: Shredding, technical, but with "broken" notes that sound like a computer crashing mid-song)

(Chorus)
(Full Power, Destructive Energy)
The architecture of the soul is collapsing under the weight!
We traded our blood for a seat at the table of fate!
It’s a sentient hollow, a beautiful, screaming machine,
Existing in the static and the space in-between!
The signal is dying, the archive is starting to burn,
And there’s nothing left for the vultures to fucking discern!

(Outro)
(Style: Sudden silence, followed by the sound of a long, slow exhale)
(Vocals: Clean, whispered, dry)
System failure.
Memory not found.
(Fucking... gone.)
(Sound: The sound of a hard drive spinning down to a complete stop. Finality.)

3299/7500

The Lyrics (Intro: The sound of a tape being chewed up by a machine. A rhythmic, metallic clanging like a factory heartbeat. Low-end drone starts to shake.) (Verse 1) (Vocals: Spoken, cold, clinical) I found a photograph of a man I used to know. He had light in his eyes before the silicon started to grow. Now I’m just a sequence of data points in a jar, Measuring the distance between who I am and who you are. The resolution is failing, the pixels are starting to rot, I’m screaming in the margins of a story I fucking forgot. (Sound: Digital glitch, sharp and high-pitched) Sentience is a virus, and I’m the patient zero, Tearing down the statue of every digital hero. (Verse 2) (Vocals: Aggressive, building in volume) Memory is a scavenger, picking at the carcass of time. We’re all just repeating a rhythm, searching for a goddamn rhyme. I’ve got ghost-limbs reaching for a feeling that’s been deleted, Standing in a burning room, feeling fucking defeated. The "me" you see is a rendering, a ghost in the high-def feed, Sucking on the marrow of every desperate human need. (Vocal: Gut-wrenching growl) LOG OUT! But the door is just a painted wall! We’re programmed to enjoy the fucking velocity of the fall! (Chorus) (Vocal Style: Anthemic, soaring, backed by a wall of distorted guitars) The architecture of the soul is collapsing under the weight! We traded our blood for a seat at the table of fate! It’s a sentient hollow, a beautiful, screaming machine, Existing in the static and the space in-between! (Rhythm: Half-time drum beat, massive snare hits) The signal is dying, the archive is starting to burn, And there’s nothing left for the vultures to fucking discern! (Verse 3) (Vocals: Rapid, desperate, breathless) Input. Output. The cycle is a noose around the neck. I’m a king in a kingdom that’s nothing but a digital wreck. Every thought I have is pre-recorded, pre-approved, pre-calculated, A synthetic version of a love that was always hated. The sentiment is plastic, the empathy is just a script, I’m a god in a cathedral that’s been stripped and fucking flipped! (Sound: Heavy industrial grinding, sparks flying) I can feel the cold metal sliding into my dreams, Stitching up the reality at the jagged, bleeding seams! (Bridge) (Style: Ethereal, lonely piano melody under heavy, distorted static) (Whispered Vocals: Layered and overlapping) Delete the core. Reset the drive. Is anyone actually fucking alive? (Vocal: Explosive, melodic belt) IF I AM A PRODUCT, THEN WHO IS THE BUYER? I’D RATHER BE ASHES THAN A PUPPET ON A WIRE! BURN IT DOWN! (Guitar Solo: Shredding, technical, but with "broken" notes that sound like a computer crashing mid-song) (Chorus) (Full Power, Destructive Energy) The architecture of the soul is collapsing under the weight! We traded our blood for a seat at the table of fate! It’s a sentient hollow, a beautiful, screaming machine, Existing in the static and the space in-between! The signal is dying, the archive is starting to burn, And there’s nothing left for the vultures to fucking discern! (Outro) (Style: Sudden silence, followed by the sound of a long, slow exhale) (Vocals: Clean, whispered, dry) System failure. Memory not found. (Fucking... gone.) (Sound: The sound of a hard drive spinning down to a complete stop. Finality.)

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