[INTRO — BREAKFAST PLAZA, LIGHT ACOUSTIC GUITAR] Coffee. Croissant. Old flight jacket, jeans and boots. Black shirt saying I’M THE ANARCHIST— which narrows it down to half the fucking plaza. Guitar on my shoulder, departures rolling over Mekhios, morning doing nothing remarkable— until GNN asks Revan: “Is she safe with you?” [beat] I nearly die on pastry. Coffee everywhere. Oh, chérie. No. Give me that camera. [VERSE 1 — WALKING] Twenty-one when I killed my first mark for the Federation in Kador. Bloated plutocrat wanted me decorative in his harem. Poor man never really understood explosive foreplay. Five years manipulating, infiltrating, undermining and excoriating dangerous places, awful people, guns and knives and poisoned pills. Medtech insurgency? Five stars. Would recommend. And you’re worried whether I know what room I walked into? [CHORUS] Don’t ask if I’m safe with her, ask where I want to be. In the eye of the hurricane, where danger feels like honesty. Safe was never on the menu, not for women like her and me. Ask me where I choose to stand— that’s the better question, chérie. [VERSE 2 — PICKING UP PACE] Capsule training unleashed the Noise. Memetics went large, synaesthesia went feral, cause and possibility collided somewhere behind my eyes. Outward empires. Lawless space. Coups and revolutions. Counterrevolutions before breakfast. I invented fucking suicide ganking and helped kill the richest corporation in New Eden. War after war after war— four hundred and twenty-eight CONCORD-sanctioned conflicts. Imperial fluid routers banned me because apparently my ideas were more dangerous than my guns. Fair. I made war on empires, states, ascending powers, any hierarchy stupid enough to mistake obedience for consent. I died seven times. Atoms scattered into the dust between stars. Still here. [CHORUS] Don’t ask if I’m safe with her, ask where I want to be. In the eye of the hurricane, where danger feels like honesty. Safe was never on the menu, not for women like her and me. Ask me where I choose to stand— that’s the better question, chérie. [VERSE 3 — CAMERA DRONES MULTIPLY] I hear possible futures inside a holovid sentence. I see the patterns while they’re still deciding whether to happen. Built an illegal Titan while at war with all Amarr. Hacked digital consciousness and stole my lover from a star. Humbled powers. Shattered hierarchy. Stood alone against debased mimicry. Trapped the Goons inside an endless war until they begged CONCORD to slam the door. So forgive me if I spill my coffee laughing when a journalist asks whether somebody else can keep me safe. Love— I have never been that sort of problem. [VERSE 4 — WARMER] But don’t mistake this for invulnerability. I have loved more completely than this world knows how to measure. Begged. Knelt. Given up my breath below. Been damned and saved and spared and cherished. I asked to be ruined, not unmade. Ravished, not worshipped. Greeted as comrade, not messiah— because I do not have all the answers. I make mistakes. I mislay the plans. I lose faith. I have. Then find it again tucked down the back of very expensive leather sofas. Usually beside someone else’s underwear. [BRIDGE — SOFTER, CLOSE] I’ve fucked a billionaire statist’s plans and smiled while doing it. But I have only loved my lover’s hand— even when it holds the candle, even when it touches me so softly that every old defence forgets what it was built for. So no— this is not about safety. This is about choice. [DROP — NEAR SPOKEN] Am I safe with her? Might as well ask a binary explosive compound whether it’s safe with its neighbour. We’re fucking dangerous. Safe was never on the menu. [FINAL BUILD] Ask where I want to be. That’s a better question. In the eye of the hurricane. Ground zero. At the union of everything profane. I’ll stand beneath Sparrow’s guns and raise the toast again. Because anarchists don’t need permission. Anarchists don’t need safety bars. And anarchists know where the fuck they want to be. [FINAL CHORUS] Don’t ask if I’m safe with her, ask where I want to be. In the eye of the hurricane, where danger feels like honesty. Safe was never on the menu, not for women like her and me. Ask me where I choose to stand— that’s the better question, chérie. [CODA — WALKING, CROWD NOW SINGING] Am I safe with her? Fuck no. What kind of question is that? Nobody is safe in this kind of passion. Safe is for children. Choice is for grown women who have read the fucking warning label and opened the bottle anyway. [beat] And next time— read the lyrics.
