Page 251 – Fantasia Blueprint

[Verse 1]
They got the reel on repeat, ether thick in the air,
Little feet can’t reach the floor, but the picture is there.
Primary programmer posted, whisper close in his ear,
Every word like a wire getting soldered in here.

Three years old, four years old, under chemical rain,
Tiny tongue tastes metal, light drills into his brain.
He’s the canvas and the paint, he’s the lock and the chain,
Not a whip on his back, but a frame in his brain.

Fantasia on the wall, but inside it’s a globe,
Outer space in his skull, Rubicon in his lobe.
Amphitheater horizon where the visuals strobe,
Every brush stroke a road, every color a code.

They got a small split part that remembers it all,
Every trumpet, every tremor, every shadow on the wall.
They hide that kid so deep no other alter can call,
Only keys that they speak make the memory fall.

Clean slate on the stage, they project the replay,
Little inner child slave throwing worlds in the fray.
“THIS IS WHAT YOU MUST BUILD,” they instruct as they pray,
Mixing prayers with the programming, perverting the way.

Eyes taped open, yet the soul gets shut,
They stitch a movie in the cortex like a ritual cut.
Box office flop in public, secret hit in the cut,
What the critics called weird is the knife in the gut.

[Hook]
They spin the reel, lock the mind in the light,
Color on the screen, trauma under the white.
Lil’ heart beats slow, big hands turn night,
Fantasia blueprint, carving up the inner sight.

They spin the reel till the memory’s a site,
Music in the veins, demons riding the byte.
Child can’t sleep but his memories might,
Fantasia blueprint, turn a soul into a site.

[Verse 2]
You got a front that forgets, and a back that recalls,
One part hates the film, can’t say why at all.
Smell of dust in the theater, echo down hall,
But the amnesia on top is the programmer’s wall.

Silent film, heavy score, no dialogue needed,
Leave the script in the hands of the witch that’s seated.
Mother-of-Dark with a smile, every line repeated,
Every compliment poison, every comfort seeded.

They let Christian parts watch, let the timid ones see,
Let the hopeful eyes drink what the screen’s gonna be.
Then they scrub all recall, leave a phantom unease,
Just a bad taste in the gut when they mention this piece.

Later on when they split, when the core gets erased,
When the torture and the terror start to finish the base,
They call that hidden little watcher from the deadest of space,
Project Fantasia in the head, let it orbit in place.

Internal sun in the dark, glowing ball for the show,
Where the frames wrap around and they circle the snow.
Every swirl, every spark, every castle they know,
Becomes a continent inside where the alters can go.

They don’t need steel bars, they don’t need a cage,
Just the perfect moving picture and a terrified age.
Then they graft every beating, every shock, every stage,
On a gallery of scenes, page stapled to page.

[Verse 3]
Generations in the seats while the critics all yawned,
Every decade new kids with their innocence pawned.
Public saw a weird score, got bored and moved on,
But the cult saw a toolkit they could weaponize strong.

Trip kids saw a cartoon, laughed, thought it was fun,
Programmed ones flinched when the chords would run.

One alter holds the archive, locked tight like a vault,
If the wrong part remembers, the whole system can halt.
Because the trauma that they layered on this Fantasia salt,
Is a fracture map, if it breaks, the foundations fault.

You ever hate a movie that you swear you ain’t seen,
Feel sick at its cover, feel rage in between?
That’s a ghost of the tape they used under morphine,
You don’t recall the torture but your stomach ain’t clean.

They say, “JUST REMEMBER THE GOOD,” when the credits will fade,
“Just the pretty little colors, not the blades that we laid.”
So the conscious mind sleeps in a fake palisade,
While the unconscious builds cities out of every charade.

It’s not a fairy-tale flick, it’s an architect’s plan,
Turning children into chambers for the use of a clan.
Every beat, every bar, builds a map for a hand,
So the programmer can navigate the inside of a man.

[Outro]
Curtain closed on the stage, but it loops in the head,
Little eyes taped open while the childhood bled.
Take a flop from the charts, turn it into undead,
Fantasia blueprint, that’s the book that they read.

Spin film, split soul, let the colors collide,
Hide the reel in a child that they bury inside.
World calls it magic, shrugs, lets it ride,
While a kingdom in the cortex takes shape on the sly.

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[Intro] Eyes taped, mind caged, color bleeds in the frame, Tiny hands in the dark while they’re feeding the flame. Single chair, single screen, single child in a trance, Every note, every scene, every scar in advance. [Verse 1] They got the reel on repeat, ether thick in the air, Little feet can’t reach the floor, but the picture is there. Primary programmer posted, whisper close in his ear, Every word like a wire getting soldered in here. Three years old, four years old, under chemical rain, Tiny tongue tastes metal, light drills into his brain. He’s the canvas and the paint, he’s the lock and the chain, Not a whip on his back, but a frame in his brain. Fantasia on the wall, but inside it’s a globe, Outer space in his skull, Rubicon in his lobe. Amphitheater horizon where the visuals strobe, Every brush stroke a road, every color a code. They got a small split part that remembers it all, Every trumpet, every tremor, every shadow on the wall. They hide that kid so deep no other alter can call, Only keys that they speak make the memory fall. Clean slate on the stage, they project the replay, Little inner child slave throwing worlds in the fray. “THIS IS WHAT YOU MUST BUILD,” they instruct as they pray, Mixing prayers with the programming, perverting the way. Eyes taped open, yet the soul gets shut, They stitch a movie in the cortex like a ritual cut. Box office flop in public, secret hit in the cut, What the critics called weird is the knife in the gut. [Hook] They spin the reel, lock the mind in the light, Color on the screen, trauma under the white. Lil’ heart beats slow, big hands turn night, Fantasia blueprint, carving up the inner sight. They spin the reel till the memory’s a site, Music in the veins, demons riding the byte. Child can’t sleep but his memories might, Fantasia blueprint, turn a soul into a site. [Verse 2] You got a front that forgets, and a back that recalls, One part hates the film, can’t say why at all. Smell of dust in the theater, echo down hall, But the amnesia on top is the programmer’s wall. Silent film, heavy score, no dialogue needed, Leave the script in the hands of the witch that’s seated. Mother-of-Dark with a smile, every line repeated, Every compliment poison, every comfort seeded. They let Christian parts watch, let the timid ones see, Let the hopeful eyes drink what the screen’s gonna be. Then they scrub all recall, leave a phantom unease, Just a bad taste in the gut when they mention this piece. Later on when they split, when the core gets erased, When the torture and the terror start to finish the base, They call that hidden little watcher from the deadest of space, Project Fantasia in the head, let it orbit in place. Internal sun in the dark, glowing ball for the show, Where the frames wrap around and they circle the snow. Every swirl, every spark, every castle they know, Becomes a continent inside where the alters can go. They don’t need steel bars, they don’t need a cage, Just the perfect moving picture and a terrified age. Then they graft every beating, every shock, every stage, On a gallery of scenes, page stapled to page. [Verse 3] Generations in the seats while the critics all yawned, Every decade new kids with their innocence pawned. Public saw a weird score, got bored and moved on, But the cult saw a toolkit they could weaponize strong. Trip kids saw a cartoon, laughed, thought it was fun, Programmed ones flinched when the chords would run. One alter holds the archive, locked tight like a vault, If the wrong part remembers, the whole system can halt. Because the trauma that they layered on this Fantasia salt, Is a fracture map, if it breaks, the foundations fault. You ever hate a movie that you swear you ain’t seen, Feel sick at its cover, feel rage in between? That’s a ghost of the tape they used under morphine, You don’t recall the torture but your stomach ain’t clean. They say, “JUST REMEMBER THE GOOD,” when the credits will fade, “Just the pretty little colors, not the blades that we laid.” So the conscious mind sleeps in a fake palisade, While the unconscious builds cities out of every charade. It’s not a fairy-tale flick, it’s an architect’s plan, Turning children into chambers for the use of a clan. Every beat, every bar, builds a map for a hand, So the programmer can navigate the inside of a man. [Outro] Curtain closed on the stage, but it loops in the head, Little eyes taped open while the childhood bled. Take a flop from the charts, turn it into undead, Fantasia blueprint, that’s the book that they read. Spin film, split soul, let the colors collide, Hide the reel in a child that they bury inside. World calls it magic, shrugs, lets it ride, While a kingdom in the cortex takes shape on the sly.

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