[Intro | distorted police radio | industrial beat building] "Unknown contacts in Anoikis..." "Possible grave robbers." "Mid-Rust, you receiving?" Static in the hole, then the red lights glow, Kids nobody wanted got somewhere to go. W H P D badge on the bulkhead wall, They thought they saved four... They started something more. [Verse One | Raven, sharp street cadence | calculated female flow | Spanish English sound | cold industrial edge] Blood on the history, rust in the frame, Nunca forgotten, we remember the name. Headphones locked, silence meant fear, Now I turn that old warning into something you hear. From ritual ruins to the Anoikis dark, W H P D gave the survivors a spark. Grave robbers came thinking sites were free, Now every bass hit says, you answer to me. [Verse Two | Kilo, confident sharp male flow | street smart bounce | technical internal rhymes] Learned control when control was rare, Hood up, eyes sharp, always aware. No gates out here, just holes that shift, Scanner on sweep while the frequencies drift. Cops caught dirtbags, loot came back, Orphan donation in a battered pack. Food became cables, cables became sound, Then Mid-Rust Records came up underground. [Chorus | anthemic build | stacked crew vocals | Haiku] Blood became our beat Rust became a radio We own the silence [Verse Three | Vex | bold energetic male fearless hypeman delivery | shout energy] AY — WE WERE THE JOKE, NOW LOOK AT THE CREW! W H P D KNOW WHAT THE ORPHANS CAN DO! Badge at the door, red lights on the rack, Every grave robber funds another track! From charity cans to the studio stack, We took that darkness and wired it BACK! No pity required, just turn that gain, MID-RUST RECORDS — REMEMBER THE NAME! [Verse Four | Echo, calm intelligent female spoken-sung | Japanese English sound | precise technical cadence | slight vocal echo] Signal clean... levels aligned, Kizu wa nokoru, but sharpen the mind. I mapped every exit, remembered each sound, Now I route that static when the hole rolls around. Mixer to transmitter, transmitter to space, Every orphan frequency finally has a place. W H P D gave us time, we engineered the rest, Survival was the prototype... Mid-Rust is the test. [Bridge | half-time industrial stomp | police radio underneath] "They called it charity." We called it tomorrow. "They gave them somewhere to survive." We built somewhere to be heard. [Final Chorus | massive bass | full crew stacked vocals] Blood became our beat Rust became a radio We own the silence [Outro | radio static | distant wormhole ambience] From Blood Raider orphans... to Mid-Rust Records. "Dispatch, update the report." "The kids made it."
