[Verse 1] Mercury’s in retrograde, that’s your get-out-of-jail card, To treat your brother like garbage, leave your neighbor scarred. You say "It’s in the stars," you blame the moon and the sun, Refusing to own the wreckage of the damage you’ve done. You’re a Leo with a ego, a Scorpio with a sting, Hiding behind the charts to justify every crooked thing. It’s a horoscope deflection, a celestial lie, You’re just a shitty person, don’t blame the sky. [Verse 2] Your guru’s fucking students while he preaches about presence, Monetizing emptiness and calling it your essence. Three grand for the secret that you're already complete— Meanwhile he's upgrading his Maserati fleet. Says your suffering is sacred, calls your trauma a door, Really he's just whoring out to capitalism's core, Wrapped in sanskrit phrases and his white linen sheets, Selling you salvation on his payment plan receipts. [Verse 3] "Everything's a lesson" at the children's cancer ward, "You manifested this"—what a self-serving fraud. Tell the raped they asked for it, the starving that they chose, Your philosophy's just victim-blaming in a yoga pose. Love and light for everyone who smiles through the knife, But honest human suffering? That shit will ruin the vibe. You’re building monuments to permanence from temporary clay, Pretending consciousness survives past your final day. [Verse 4] Then there’s the ones who rush to crown the mother who killed, Postpartum "psychosis"—the narrative is drilled. They want to paint the killer as a victim of the state, While three tiny caskets are sealed by the gate. Oh, she was "overmedicated," she didn't know the truth, Convenient how the "mental health" label saves the youth— From the electric chair? No, from the judgment of the crime, They’re building up a martyr in this sick, modern time. [Verse 5] The internet is flooding with the "We Love You" posts, Protecting a child murderer from the shadows and the ghosts. If she was a poor woman, some addict from the block, Would they have been so gentle? Would they have stood by the clock? To defend her every action, to sanitize the blade? No, they’d be calling for her head for the mess that she made. But she’s the right profile, so the public gives a pass, Looking at the tragedy through a broken-mirror glass. [Verse 6] How do you reconcile the "support" with the dead? How do you find compassion for the hands that choked and bled? They’re calling it a "cry for help," a tragedy, a break, While ignoring every life that she decided she could take. The hypocrisy is drowning, it’s a sick, twisted tide, Where we comfort the survivor and let the victims hide. You call it mental illness, I call it what it is: Murder isn't "healing"—and those kids didn't get to live.
