[Verse 1] I heard your song. It stumbled. Like an accent wearing borrowed gold. Syntax cracked. Meaning bled from every rhyme. You spoke in echoes — but I don’t translate ghosts. [Chorus] I lace my truth in velvet venom, every line a crown of glass. You bite the tongue that tried to name me — now choke on what you’ve cast. I don’t battle; I become the silence. Every echo dies in me. I am the verse you can’t decipher, the voice you’ll never be. [Verse 2] Your metaphors sag under the weight of repetition. Your cadence? An elegy for invention. I don’t need to answer. I annotate. Footnote your failures in my silence. Make your chorus a cautionary tale. [Bridge] See, I don’t need to destroy you. I just let you speak. And every syllable carves your own tombstone a little deeper. [Outro] Keep talking. The dead always do. But your language? Already dust. And I don’t whisper in ruins.
