[Intro – guitare qui grince, rire rauque] Dublin’s dirt in my lungs, rock in my veins, magic on the run. Let’s fucking go. [Verse 1 – Enfance, débit rapide] Raised on static and steel, father’s hands smell of oil and beer, mother’s spells can’t heal a boy who only wants the noise to steer. Seven years old, guitar too big, strings cut his fingers, he smiles — bleeding feels like music. He learned the rule young: if you can’t win, break something beautiful instead. [Chorus – hurlé] BORN TO BURN, NOT TO LEARN! EVERY SCAR A FUCKING CHORD I EARN! BORN TO BURN, TILL THE LIGHTS ALL TURN! [Verse 2 – Poudlard, rap rapide, grinçant] Gryffindor by mistake, lazy punk behind a sacred gate. Homework dead, amps alive, songs about sex and suicide. Sneaking out, hallways hum, smoke in lungs, heartbeat drum. Friends dream small, he dreams loud, future blurred in a screaming crowd. [Pre-Chorus – murmuré, menaçant] They said “grow up.” He said “why?” [Chorus – growl explosif] BORN TO BURN, NOT TO LEARN! EVERY SCAR A FUCKING CHORD I EARN! BORN TO BURN, TILL THE LIGHTS ALL TURN! (solo court, guitare sale et nerveuse) [Verse 3 – Rockstar, tempo qui s’accélère] Pubs stink of sweat and gin, he plays for ghosts, for sin. Crowds of five, maybe six, but he still screams like a crucifix. Every night another fight, beer for blood, pain for light. They call him mad — he calls it fame, burning slow inside his name. [Verse 4 – Criminel, flow serré, violent] Pocket knife, pocket cash, stolen coats, stolen hash. No plan, no map, just vice, life’s cheap, he rolls the dice. Cage fighter for the drink, teeth and sweat and kitchen sink. Lawless art, Jude’s call away, she bleeds to keep the wolves at bay. He smiles with broken teeth, says “I’m fine — I always land on my feet.” [Bridge – chant clair, intense, émotion brute] (Jude’s voice behind him like an echo) You never learned to stay, I never learned to let you drown. So I built your stage, and I keep the lights from going down. [Chorus – retour brutal, cri primal] BORN TO BURN, NOT TO LEARN! EVERY SCAR A FUCKING CHORD I EARN! BORN TO BURN, TILL THE LIGHTS ALL TURN! (gros solo, guitare flamboyante, puis coup sec) [Verse 5 – La Fausse Danse, spoken/growl] Luck hits like a bottle thrown, inheritance carved in bone. Sister signs, he takes the stage, paints the walls with his own rage. Cabaret bleeding gold and sin, he calls it art — it calls him in. Crowd screams “Lloyd!” — he grins, the drunk who finally found his kingdom of sins. [Final Chorus – hurlé à s’en arracher la gorge] BORN TO BURN! NEVER TO LEARN! DRUNK ON LIES AND GASOLINE TURN! BORN TO BURN, AND I WON’T RETURN! [Outro – guitare qui s’éteint, voix rauque] Smoke. Music. Debt. Family. Repeat.
