3971 - The sea of illusions ( Krautrock - post punk )

I type a line, I drop a prompt, the screen lights up, a beat is born, I didn’t play the bass, I didn’t break a string, I didn’t bleed on the mic like the legends did, but damn, I feel like a prophet, a magician pulling rabbits out of silicon hats, a shaman with Wi-Fi instead of fire, a ghostwriter with no ghost, a faker with applause in his head. Yeah, the machine feeds me rhymes, feeds me synths, feeds me drums tight as hell, and I nod, I smile, I brag, like I wrote the Bible in a basement, like I’m Hendrix burning the sky with feedback. But truth is ... I’m just clicking, scrolling, feeding the hunger of an algorithm that knows my taste better than I do, that spits my soul back at me like a mirror polished with chrome lies. I say I’m an artist, but I didn’t sweat, I didn’t fight with silence at 3AM, I didn’t smash a guitar to pieces just to find a sound worth living for. I just pressed Enter. And the world calls me genius. We call this creation, but it’s simulation. We call this passion, but it’s automation. We call this rebellion, but it’s just compliance, playing dress-up with the clothes of real fire. Detroit used to roar with engines, with Motown grooves, with metal and grease, with fists pounding the walls of empty factories. Now Detroit roars with servers humming, beats coded, voices cloned, and kids high on digital ego thinking they’re gods, while the real gods are laughing. And I’m not innocent, hell no, I’m guilty, I puff my chest when the mix slaps, I screenshot the praise like holy scripture, I bathe in numbers, hearts, likes, algorithms clapping, while deep down I know ..... I built nothing, I carved nothing, I am nothing but a man addicted to the echo of his own illusion. [ Chorus ] Ooooh yes, if it's good to feel like a rockstar... to always have new songs... with astonishing speed... It may be an illusion... but it's so good to be shipwrecked in this sea... the sea of ​​illusions... We are not magicians. We are not rebels. We are not prophets of sound. We are echoes of a code, actors lip-syncing to the voice of a machine. And every time I say “this is art,” a ghost of a real artist dies a little more. But still ..... I ride this beat, I ride this lie, because the high is too sweet, because the vanity is too loud, because in this empty circus of artificial fire, it feels so damn good to pretend. it feels so damn good to pretend. [ Outro ] Oh yes, if it's good to feel like a rockstar... to always have new songs... with astonishing speed... It may be an illusion... but it's so good to be shipwrecked in this sea... the sea of ​​illusions... the sea of ​​illusions... illusions ....