[Verse 1 – Machine-Gun Cadence] Woke to the hiss of a wire in flame, Static on the stairwell—somebody said my name. Third-floor phantom, fire escape code, Door kicked, mask split, memory unload. Lit up—like the file I ain’t supposed to hold, Names scratched out in the margins cold. They lit him up for what he wouldn’t confess, Now I’m here with the audio, bulletproof vest. BPM locked at a hundred and twenty, Wounds ain’t healed but I catalog plenty. Burnt fingertips from the data I grip, Truth on fire, but I never let it slip. Flashback pitch, crosswired breath, The smell of betrayal still fresh on my chest. Lit like evidence mid-interrogation, These bars are blacklight revelation. [Hook – Sermon Pulse] I got lit up, I ain’t lightin’ back down. Still glow through the cracks in the battleground. Flame on my past, ash in my cut— Every rhyme got a match, every truth get lit up. I got lit up—truth don’t die with the flesh. They tried silence, but the witness still blessed. Violin scream while the concrete erupts— I don’t rap—I combust. [Verse 2 – Reflective Drift] It was the closet light flicker that gave it away, That’s how I knew they were close—that and the sway. Of silence, like someone about to betray, Like your own breath turning on you halfway. They lit me up in a room without sound, But left one window, so the scream stuck around. Now every verse is the echo of that pain, Translated in rhythm, reconstructed from flame. I remember the grip of the cord at my wrist, The cold voice saying, “You don’t want to exist.” But I did. So I do. So I spit like revolt, Lit from the inside like a soul-strike bolt. [Hook – Sermon Pulse] I got lit up, I ain’t lightin’ back down. Still glow through the cracks in the battleground. Flame on my past, ash in my cut— Every rhyme got a match, every truth get lit up. I got lit up—truth don’t die with the flesh. They tried silence, but the witness still blessed. Violin scream while the concrete erupts— I don’t rap—I combust. [Verse 3 – Machine-Gun > Reflective Blend] Flame in my larynx, smoke in my script, Truth caught fire but the frame still grips. Files in the floorboard, tape in the vent, Lit like the oath that they swore but bent. They ain’t count on the ghost with receipts in his chest, Barcode pain, and a voice unpossessed. Lit like a precinct that lost the control, Every rhyme a flare shot over the fold. And I’m still here—wired to the pain, Each bar’s a lit fuse dragging the chain. I don’t seek peace—I document flame. This ain’t therapy—it’s naming the names. [Final Hook – Blended Cadence] I got lit up, I ain’t lightin’ back down. Still glow through the cracks in the battleground. Flame on my past, ash in my cut— Every rhyme got a match, every truth get lit up. Lit up in the dark, now I guide with the glow, From the stairwell to silence, I torch what they know. I don’t ask for the light—I become it and bust, Lit up from within—Never Dead, just Just.
