Page 244 – Hall of Quiet Echoes

[Intro – soft, disoriented]
They told the kids,
“don’t worry, it’s pretend,”
but every hallway in that story
had a door that never ends.

White rabbit on the screen,
ring glowing in his hand,
whispering, “build a world inside your mind,”
like that’s a thing they didn’t plan.

[Verse 1]
Morning slot on the TV, cereal bowl, bare feet on tile,
channel clicks, then the rabbit appears
with that calm I-don’t-blink smile.
He says, “we can make a world in your mind,”
like it’s arts and crafts,
but he’s teaching kids to step offstage
from their own internal cast.

Alice doesn’t just dream,
she leaves through the glass like that’s normal,
mirror surface opens up smooth
with no lightning, nothing formal.
That’s not just a magic trick,
that’s a drill in cartoon skin,
showing little heads how to walk away
from the room they’re sitting in.

White Rabbit reading to a girl on screen
with that fatherly tone,
but he’s not a mascot anymore,
that’s a programmer on the phone.
He’s “our only hope,” they say,
while he flips through scripted pages,
teaching kids to trust the guide
who rearranges all their cages.

You call it “morning show,”
I call it practice for a split,
training future deep-sleeper alters
where to hide and where to sit.

[Hook]
Down the hole where the clocks don’t tick,
where the mirrors don’t show what’s real,
where a rabbit with a smile and a pocket watch
teaches you what not to feel.
They say it’s just a story,
but the story hums like steel,
hall of quiet echoes in your head
til the world you know can’t heal.

[Verse 2]
Deep alters built for espionage,
for seduction, blackmail, kill,
never touch the concrete world,
they live in reels and painted hills.
You feed a child Wonderland
until Wonderland becomes the floor,
then when they’re nineteen you test
if they still know which door is yours.

They don’t wake up in apartments,
they wake up in scenes and cues,
white rabbit ringing in the distance
like a handler in their fuse.
Say the phrase, change the set,
slide them back in fantasy,
you can make a perfect weapon
out of fractured memory.

So you dress the trauma up in color,
paint the hurt as harmless fun,
call it “Adventures in Wonderland,”
pipe it out to everyone.
But the ones you broke in basements
hear a different backing track,
when the rabbit says, “I’ll guide you,”
they know there’s no coming back.

[Verse 3]
Boat ride in the dark,
little river underneath the lights,
tiny nations on a track,
same loop days and nights.
“It’s a small world after all,”
chorus drilled like teeth in rows,
song so simple on the surface
but it burrows as it goes.

Dolls in every costume,
eyes fixed, plastic skin,
round and round repeating
like the circles in their sin.
Take a seven-year-old “for fun,”
watch their face in every turn,
then bring them back at nineteen
just to see what still will burn.

Assassin alter hears that tune
and feels the floor beneath them shift,
spy alter sees the spinning flags
and feels the trigger in the lift.
They were never meant to love the ride,
they were meant to anchor deep,
so a simple line of melody
could pull them out of normal sleep.

Sherman brothers on the credits,
nice suits, nice public lives,
they just wrote a “catchy jingle,”
not the programming that survives.
But the Network uses anything
that sticks inside a child’s head,
a chorus is a scalpel
once you know which nerves to thread.

[Bridge]
You think of it as chorus,
they think of it as chain,
wrap it soft in colored lights
until it doesn’t look like pain.
Teach them all the countries,
teach them all the flags,
teach them they are tiny
in a world of winding tracks.

“It’s a small world” becomes shorthand
between victims who can’t speak,
they bump into each other in the wild
and feel their stomachs leak.
They say the line like a joke,
but behind their laughing breath
is the recognition you only get
from almost sharing death.

[Verse 4]
Daytime rituals in the open,
nighttime work when doors are locked,
same park, two layers,
one for shows and one for shock.
Kids get marched through Fantasyland
like lambs through a painted maze,
carousels, castles, tea cups spinning,
perfect setting for a daze.

Programmers walk in plain clothes,
blend like any other guest,
but they know which bench, which corner,
which precise seat works the best.
Take a child off one ride,
bring them back to “see again,”
only this time there’s a session
hooked to every violin.

You te

5000/7500

[Intro – soft, disoriented] They told the kids, “don’t worry, it’s pretend,” but every hallway in that story had a door that never ends. White rabbit on the screen, ring glowing in his hand, whispering, “build a world inside your mind,” like that’s a thing they didn’t plan. [Verse 1] Morning slot on the TV, cereal bowl, bare feet on tile, channel clicks, then the rabbit appears with that calm I-don’t-blink smile. He says, “we can make a world in your mind,” like it’s arts and crafts, but he’s teaching kids to step offstage from their own internal cast. Alice doesn’t just dream, she leaves through the glass like that’s normal, mirror surface opens up smooth with no lightning, nothing formal. That’s not just a magic trick, that’s a drill in cartoon skin, showing little heads how to walk away from the room they’re sitting in. White Rabbit reading to a girl on screen with that fatherly tone, but he’s not a mascot anymore, that’s a programmer on the phone. He’s “our only hope,” they say, while he flips through scripted pages, teaching kids to trust the guide who rearranges all their cages. You call it “morning show,” I call it practice for a split, training future deep-sleeper alters where to hide and where to sit. [Hook] Down the hole where the clocks don’t tick, where the mirrors don’t show what’s real, where a rabbit with a smile and a pocket watch teaches you what not to feel. They say it’s just a story, but the story hums like steel, hall of quiet echoes in your head til the world you know can’t heal. [Verse 2] Deep alters built for espionage, for seduction, blackmail, kill, never touch the concrete world, they live in reels and painted hills. You feed a child Wonderland until Wonderland becomes the floor, then when they’re nineteen you test if they still know which door is yours. They don’t wake up in apartments, they wake up in scenes and cues, white rabbit ringing in the distance like a handler in their fuse. Say the phrase, change the set, slide them back in fantasy, you can make a perfect weapon out of fractured memory. So you dress the trauma up in color, paint the hurt as harmless fun, call it “Adventures in Wonderland,” pipe it out to everyone. But the ones you broke in basements hear a different backing track, when the rabbit says, “I’ll guide you,” they know there’s no coming back. [Hook] Down the hole where the clocks don’t tick, where the mirrors don’t show what’s real, where a rabbit with a smile and a pocket watch teaches you what not to feel. They say it’s just a story, but the story hums like steel, hall of quiet echoes in your head til the world you know can’t heal. [Verse 3] Boat ride in the dark, little river underneath the lights, tiny nations on a track, same loop days and nights. “It’s a small world after all,” chorus drilled like teeth in rows, song so simple on the surface but it burrows as it goes. Dolls in every costume, eyes fixed, plastic skin, round and round repeating like the circles in their sin. Take a seven-year-old “for fun,” watch their face in every turn, then bring them back at nineteen just to see what still will burn. Assassin alter hears that tune and feels the floor beneath them shift, spy alter sees the spinning flags and feels the trigger in the lift. They were never meant to love the ride, they were meant to anchor deep, so a simple line of melody could pull them out of normal sleep. Sherman brothers on the credits, nice suits, nice public lives, they just wrote a “catchy jingle,” not the programming that survives. But the Network uses anything that sticks inside a child’s head, a chorus is a scalpel once you know which nerves to thread. [Bridge] You think of it as chorus, they think of it as chain, wrap it soft in colored lights until it doesn’t look like pain. Teach them all the countries, teach them all the flags, teach them they are tiny in a world of winding tracks. “It’s a small world” becomes shorthand between victims who can’t speak, they bump into each other in the wild and feel their stomachs leak. They say the line like a joke, but behind their laughing breath is the recognition you only get from almost sharing death. [Hook] Down the hole where the clocks don’t tick, where the mirrors don’t show what’s real, where a rabbit with a smile and a pocket watch teaches you what not to feel. They say it’s just a story, but the story hums like steel, hall of quiet echoes in your head til the world you know can’t heal. [Verse 4] Daytime rituals in the open, nighttime work when doors are locked, same park, two layers, one for shows and one for shock. Kids get marched through Fantasyland like lambs through a painted maze, carousels, castles, tea cups spinning, perfect setting for a daze. Programmers walk in plain clothes, blend like any other guest, but they know which bench, which corner, which precise seat works the best. Take a child off one ride, bring them back to “see again,” only this time there’s a session hooked to every violin. You te

0/500