(Intro) I brew potions in copper cauldrons, you dose poison in pills. You call it science — I call it forgetting the will. When logic drowned the moon, I stayed beneath, stirring memory into myth, inhaling what you call disease. (Verse 1) Sulfur veils rise, you hide behind your sterile glass, I speak with roots, you speak with graphs. You chase the symptom — I trace the seed, you sterilize the wound, I let it bleed to read. Crystals hum frequencies older than code, you run your tests — I break the node. You print results, I read the rot in gold, truth is volatile, and your formulas mold. They call it medicine — I call it mimicry, patented empathy, bottled alchemy. You trade souls for dosage and symmetry, I trade silence for storms and infinity. (Bridge) Your white light blinds, mine burns from within, your cure’s a circle, my poison’s a hymn. You calculate fate with a steady hand, but chaos is fluent — it won’t be scanned. (Verse 2) My mercury tongue drips scripture in silver, you analyze data, I dissect the shiver. You diagnose gods as “chemical imbalance,” while I dissolve doubt in ritual violence. You fear what breathes without a label, you worship the sterile, the quantifiable, the stable. But I see your progress — a gilded regress, a mirrored abyss that calls itself “success.” Your laboratories hum like temples of denial, I write my theses in venom and bile. Your scalpels can’t cut through myth or mind, I heal what your textbooks leave behind. (Hook) Gold — not truth, just shimmer. Sick — not healed, just dimmer. Cure — not end, just cycle. I burn the script — survival, not title. (verse 3) You praise the sterile, I praise the spark, your light’s fluorescent, mine feeds the dark. My herbs whisper in tongues you forgot, I mix memory in mortar — you call it rot. Every dose you write is a spell misplaced, each cure’s a contract — sin erased. But pain’s a teacher, not a pest, you numb the lesson, I let it test. They said the age of mystics has passed, but I see your gods — in glass, masked. I see your prophets — in profit and pain, your prayers smell like ethanol and Novocaine. (Bridge) You name my chaos “uncontrolled,” but control was never what wisdom sold. Fire refines — you fear the heat, but progress dies where comfort sleeps. (Verse 4) I don’t heal — I transmute. You prescribe — I root. You file results, I write in smoke, you trust machines, I trust what broke. Mercury veins, mind like quicksilver, thoughts blur, truths flicker. I measure nothing — I feel the split, you measure all — and miss the wit. Your gods wear gloves — mine wear scars, your cure’s in capsules, mine in stars. I walk with ghosts you tried to name, you call it madness — I call it flame. (Hook) Gold — illusion, radiant fraud. Sick — controlled, not flawed. Life — experiment on repeat. I burn the cure. I stay complete. (Outro) I laugh when you patent the wind. I grin when you brand the rain. The cure you seek was in the sin — but you sterilized the pain. A drop of mercury — the world rewinds. The pulse resets. The mirror blinds. No progress. No cure. Just the cycle. Just the lure.
