INTRO (A voice whispers—dry, like sandpaper on glass—cutting through the metallic clanging.) "Stop breathing for a second. Hear that? That’s the sound of the clock winding down in a room with no windows. They told you the world was changing; I’m telling you it’s already gone. Lock the door. VERSE 1 I’m the grit in the wound, I’m the salt in the bread Twenty legends in a trench coat, back from the dead Forget the polished, I’m the friction, the spark in the dark The sound of the beast leaving a permanent mark The headlines are screaming while the cities are hushed A generational spirit getting leveled and crushed We’re watching the maps get redrawn by the blade While we’re trading our freedom for a shadow and shade The shelves are looking skeletal, the harvest is thin But they’re selling us the packaging to cover the sin It’s the rattle in the radiator, cold in the bone A king without a kingdom on a cinderblock throne. HOOK Transmission Incoming — Feel the iron in the jaw Transmission Incoming — There’s a ghost in the law From the salt of the earth to the soot in the sky The signal is screaming, and it’s telling no lie Transmission Incoming. VERSE 2 I’m the stutter in the engine, the leak in the valve A world full of blisters with no medicine or salve The currency is paper but the debt is in blood Watching empires dissolve in the rise of the flood They’re building the fences while they’re burning the bridge The future is a silhouette on a jagged-tooth ridge I got the hunger of the basement, the ice of the peak The only one speaking when the powerful are weak I’m the 20-headed monster with a singular aim: To set the truth in the middle and ignite the whole flame No filters, no fakes, just the weight of the hand Writing "RECKONING" deep in the dust of the land. OUTRO (The hammering speeds up, becoming a frantic, industrial heartbeat that suddenly stops mid-strike.) Silence is the loudest part of the broadcast. The ink is dry. The door is off the hinges. SIGNAL TERMINATED.
