[INTRO] The can shakes like a nervous heart… Streetlights flicker like they judge me… Chrome drips look like memories melting… --- [VERSE 1 ] Boots on wet pavement, city breathing ozone fumes, I drag my shadow through the subways where regret assumes. The night tastes bitter, but I paint it sweet with fumes, Staring at a blank wall wide as all the things I’ll lose. In my backpack: colors, cap replacements, half a dream, And a phone full of songs no one ever heard downstream. Clicks without listens, praise without presence, Their “fire bro" feels faker than influencers’ confessions. I mutter: “Funny, ain’t it? People love the picture, not the pulse. They hype the cover, never crack the vault.” They skim the glow, ignore the grit, Hit like but never hit play, counterfeit. The city exhales. I shake the can. Time to spill what humans can’t withstand. --- Lights smear into liquid chrome… The wall becomes a diary no one knows… --- [VERSE 2 ] I press the nozzle, pshht and my childhood spills in neon, Every curve a memory nobody stuck around to lean on. I lace the brick with crooked truths I never say aloud, Letters bending like my spine when life got loud. Metallic blue for anger, crimson for the years I missed, Turquoise for music tracks I buried in drafts nobody clicked. I thread colors like ribcages rebuilt in haste, The outline shakes like hands I tried too hard to erase. Someone walks by: “Yo that’s sick!” He doesn’t even slow down Just performs the praise, disappears into the crowd. I laugh under my breath A sharp, mean, tiny sound. “Bro you loved the art, But you never heard the sound.” --- Paint drips sync with the beat in your head… The wall hums back… --- [HOOK] I paint the sound; I tag the silence The colors scream what I keep quiet. They love the vibe but dodge the violence They hit like, but skip the riot. Echo, echo, ECHO My truth in neon glow They’ll never hear my voice, But they’ll feel the undertow. --- [VERSE 3] Morning people stream like data, faces drained and flat, They photograph my mural like tourists at a ritual act. Captions read: “This artist’s crazy,” but they miss the cracks, The pain encrypted in the paint where my pulse reacts. They love the vibe more than the voice, The image more than the noise, The artist more than the art, The option more than the choice. They praise what they don’t process, Critique what they don’t digest, Scroll through masterpieces like they’re memes Between buying sheet they don’t confess. And I? I’m somewhere between a ghost and a glitch, A man hiding behind lyrics stitched Into walls that never snitch. --- [BRIDGE] Colors bleed like confessions cut… Memories glitch, walls absorb your gut… --- [VERSE 4 ] My tag grows monstrous as I layer more truth on brick, Every stroke a heartbeat, every shadow thick. I rap quietly under breath while painting the bend My art’s the only place where my two worlds blend. Music drips from me like runoff down the sewer grate, Graffiti lifts from me like steam from a tired fate. I’m alive only when creating The rest of life, I’m just waiting. The wall whispers back: “They’ll never see you. Not really.” But my paint replies: “At least I leave something that feels like me.” I choke a laugh Sharp, bitter, mean. If they won’t hear my songs, They’ll damn well see what I’ve been. --- [FINAL HOOK] I paint the sound; I tag the silence The colors scream what I keep quiet. They love the vibe but dodge the violence They hit like, but skip the riot. Echo, echo, ECHO My truth in neon glow They’ll never hear my voice, But they’ll feel me in the wall Long after they go. ---
