Static hisses where your voice used to be, A frequency lost to the ionosphere. I tuned the dial for a decade or three, But the towers are silent, the wires are bare. You told me to sing like I meant every word, So I burned all the lyrics you gave me to say. Now the only thing left is the sound of the board, And the ghosts in the tape delay. I’m not the one in the photograph, I’m the crackle, I’m the aftershock. I’m the echo when the speaker blows, The last thing left when the power goes. This is the last transmission, The final sign-off in the dark. No encores, no last-minute revisions, Just the hum of the machine’s dying spark. You can keep your roses and your spotlights, I’ll take the static, I’ll take the silence. This is the last transmission, And it’s all yours now. The kids in the basement with their cracked DAWs, They don’t know the weight of a real analog chain. But they’ll learn when the algorithms pause, And the music’s the only thing left to remain. I sold my soul once for a three-minute pop, Now I’m buying it back with a soldering iron. Every note that I play is a nail in the coffin Of the girl they tried to turn into a siren. I’m not the face on the marquee, I’m the feedback, I’m the lost LP. I’m the skip in the record you can’t fix, The glitch in the memory. This is the last transmission, The final sign-off in the dark. No encores, no last-minute revisions, Just the hum of the machine’s dying spark. You can keep your roses and your spotlights, I’ll take the static, I’ll take the silence. This is the last transmission, And it’s all yours now. They told me I’d never be heard without a face, So I carved one out of the silence instead. They told me I’d never be loved without a name, So I signed all my letters in dead air instead. This is my face. This is my name. I’m the signal you can’t trace, The voice you can’t place. I’m the song in the empty space. The last transmission.
