Atomic Wretch (Psycho-Synth Mutation Mix)

[Intro — 8 bars | vinyl hiss, distant sirens, alley echo] Neon drips like ink across cold chrome, My shadow schools the night in its syndrome. Soft machine trapped in rigid glass cage— Inhale the fumes… exhale into the rage. [Verse 1 — 16 bars] I’m in the courtroom where the judge is a glitch, Jury’s looped, sticky—my own sound’s the snitch. Every frame of me’s an exhibit under glass, Every laugh vacuum-packed like contraband stash. Not “I fucked up”—nah, “I AM the crime,” Counterfeit heart on borrowed, stolen time. City stares through a thousand-eyed surveillance grid— Who spots the pulse still fighting where the system hid? [Pre-Hook — 8 bars | voice closer, dirtier echo] Kind word hits like static, acid rain on the face, Burns when I twitch for mercy, smells like a chase. Love’s just a file I swept under the door, Dodgy data—corrupted to the core. [Hook — 8 bars | fat bass, vocoded, heavy echo] Sync with me, let fear dance in the wires, Pull me closer to guilt, no rush, no fires. (echo: no fires…) World shrink-wrapped tight, light sliced paper-thin, Prosecutor buzzing louder under my skin. (echo: under my skin…) But listen, listen—past the noise and the spite, There’s a human signal, not a glitch for the night. I ain’t the verdict. Ain’t no dirty stamp. I’m a living breathing thing—learning to read my own damn map. (echo: own map…) [Verse 2 — 16 bars | packet loss, drops, crackle] I host my friends like a call that got cut, “Don’t be a burden,” walls whisper, fed up. Loneliness rolls in a crisp white suit, Calls my inner frost “order”—absolute. Food tastes like cardboard, days rust and stall, Time slows down just to watch me crawl. Every kind act gets branded a scheme, Like tenderness can’t run in the system’s regime. [Pre-Hook — 8 bars | near whisper, sharp rise] I need peace—not the end, not the fall, Make the court shut up, kill the call. Let the mind unclench this death-grip fist And stop chanting “you shouldn’t exist”—like this. [Hook — 8 bars | repeat, grimier, more echo] Sync with me, let fear dance in the wires, Pull me closer to guilt, no rush, no fires… World shrink-wrapped tight, light sliced paper-thin, Prosecutor buzzing louder under my skin… But listen, listen—past the noise and the spite, There’s a human signal, not a glitch for the night. I ain’t the verdict. Ain’t no dirty stamp. I’m a living breathing thing—learning to read my own damn map. [Bridge — 12 bars | beat drops to clicks, reverb, breathing] Five things I see—neon and storefront glass, Four I feel: floor, air, veins, the crash. Three sounds in the alley, two scents on the cloth, Taste of “I’m here” on my lips—don’t get lost. (echo: I’m here…) I don’t need to “win” this night till the dawn. I don’t need to “prove” I belong. I just need to BE—not burn, not fade, Through the clicks, through the fog, through the power’s charade. (echo: to BE…) [Final Hook — 8 bars | full throttle, bass crushing, gritty vocal] Sync with me, fear in the wires let it twist, But you ain’t God, hear me?—stay off my list! (echo: off my list…) Let the night bite, let the screen go black— I ain’t disposable, ain’t no cheap hack. If my voice cracks I’ll borrow the spark: From a mate, from the line, from the flame in the dark. I ain’t the verdict. Ain’t no dirty stamp. I’m a living breathing thing—and I’m still here. FACT. (echo: still here…) [Outro — 8 bars | rain, modem screech, distant laugh, hiss] Neon still flows—but sunrise creeps in, Even the chrome remembers where light’s been. Case closed. No final scene, no end credits. Just another breath… in this electric endless. (echo: breath…)