The Static Age

You were born with a dial in your chest, Tuned to a station no one could sense. They called it noise, they called it less, But you found truth in the interference. Oh, the static never lies, It’s the silence that will kill. You can drown in all that empty sky, Or you can learn to love the thrill. This is the static age, Where the signal’s always breaking. You can wait for clarity, Or make the noise worth taking. This is the static age, And the air is full of voices. Some are screams, some are prayers, But what matters are your choices. You built a shrine to dead frequencies, An altar of tape and wire. They said you’d never be free, But you learned to love the fire. Oh, the static never lies, It’s the silence that will kill. You can drown in all that empty sky, Or you can learn to love the thrill. This is the static age, Where the signal’s always breaking. You can wait for clarity, Or make the noise worth taking. This is the static age, And the air is full of voices. Some are screams, some are prayers, But what matters are your choices. They’ll tell you to turn it down, To clean it up, to make it nice. But the static’s where the truth lives, And clean will never suffice. So let the airwaves burn, Let the speakers blow. If the world won’t hear you clearly, Then make sure they know.