Back In My head Again (Impulse to explode) [Rasta-Swazta-Skazi Re-Turn-In]

[INTRO — slow drag, gravel-throat pacing] [Humming cadence implied:] (hmm—hmm—hm-hm—hmm) Static in the skull… Pressure in the jaw… Every breath feels like they aren’t mine anymore… [VERSE 1 — tight, monotone rhythm, grunge rasp] Thoughts flicker like dying bulbs in a cold hall, Buzzing in the corners where what seems to be, shape of me, crawls in the empty rooms, In the back my head, With floors that creak, Every time I take a breath, Walls closing slow, They are wrapping me, A purgatory that smells of only death! [CHORUS 1 — sharper pace, stomp delivery] Back in my head again— Impulse clawing at the door. (Impulse to explode is born!) Back in my head again— Pressure pooling in the core. (pressure pulling down the doors) Back in my head again— I can’t tell hate from rage anymore! (Hells gate in the collapse ofmy psycho-social WAR!!!) [VERSE 2 — groan-paced, swaying, claustrophobic] Fog clings to my ribs like a second skin, Whispers chewing holes where the daylight should’ve been. Heartbeat sounds like boots on a rusted steel floor, Every step I take feels borrowed from before. [CHORUS 2 — more desperate, same rhythm, bigger weight] Back in my head again— Static screaming through the seams. (Breeding only pain in screams!) Back in my head again— Nothing tastes like what it seems. (Breaking down every inch of self esteem!) Back in my head again— Caught between the cracks of dreams. (Between the cracks of hope and an impulse to explode!) [BREAKDOWN — SLUDGY, DIRTY, GRITTY] [Beat drops to half-time sludge; guitar becomes a low dragging roar.] [Vocal rhythm: slow, choking syllables as if sinking underwater.] Sink— down— slow— into the hum beneath the bones. Crack— through— the— shell the silence owns. My thoughts drip tar… My pulse hits scar… And the room in my skull starts to collapse into dark. [GRUNGY SOLO — lengthy slow burning turns into full throttle dooming rage.] [Guitar bends wobble like rusted metal being torn apart. Sustain-heavy notes ring with ugly overtones. Solo feels drunk, staggering, slightly out of tune on purpose.] [FINAL CHORUS — bruised, exhausted, rhythm unwavering] Back in my head again— Impulse rising like a storm. (Impulse to explode is born!) Back in my head again— Mind too twisted to reform. (Twisting like a ragged doll wrapped in thorn) Back in my head again— If I break, at least it’s warm… (Comfort is never the same the second time worn!) [OUTRO — hollow, breath-heavy cadence] [Humming returns, quieter, more strained.] The room fades… The pressure stays… The impulse never goes away…