(Verse 1) Did the divine hand sketch the sinner’s face? Or did we build a throne to hide our own disgrace? Is the darkness in the heart a bug or a design? A feature of the soul, or a lie we called divine? We wrote a heavy book just to blame the final page, To have a silent witness for the ending of the age. (Chorus) Is there a "Stop"? Was there ever a "Start"? Or is it infinite motion, tearing us apart? The signal’s mid-transmission, a broadcast in the air, No on-switch in the heavens, no off-timer anywhere. (Verse 2) We live within the static, between the black and white, Projecting thoughts through space, afraid of dying light. But does the projection stop, or does the data shift its frame? Is death a local error, a failure of the name? Perhaps we never leave, perhaps we just drift out of tune, A frequency forgotten beneath a frozen moon. (Bridge) In the silence of the sleep, I see the future uncurled, But what is left to see in this waking, narrow world? Is the light behind my eyes just the hardware’s filtered view? Interference in the system, hiding what is true? (Outro) The signal is unshielded. The truth is high-bandwidth. But we are only static, Trying to understand the hand. Was there ever a beginning? ...Or has it always been?
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