[Intro] [Low ominous bass drone vibrates heavily, filling the entire room] [Vinyl crackle pops and scratches, thick and warm] [A beautiful but deeply eerie classical guitar pattern weaves in, slightly out-of-tune] [Breathless British spoken word delivery, hyper-close to the mic, almost a shiver] Hands aren't mine. Eyes aren't mine. The passenger is at the wheel. Watch. [Verse 1] [A frantic hip-hop pulse suddenly locks in underneath the eerie picking pattern] [Vocal delivery accelerates into a breathless, rapid-fire, rhythmic cadence] I didn't learn the language, but my fingers speak the prose, Something woke in the dark, and took these hands that I own. This passenger ain't driving, I’m just staring out the glass, Building structures in minutes that my waking brain would pass! It’s muscle memory running on an autopilot grace, A total dissociation from the time and the space. I am not the creator, I am just the machine, A physical vessel for the unseen and clean. The flow state is absolute, the connectivity high, I watch my own limbs weave a path through the sky. I don't look at the blueprint, I don't follow the map, I'm just riding the electricity caught in the trap. [Guitar strings buzz with a sudden digital stutter effect] The ego is muted, the identity dead, While a foreign geometry carves through my head! [Chorus] [The guitar shifts violently into a heavy, driving, aggressive indie-rock strum] [Vocals swell into soaring, cracked melodic singing, raw and deeply emotional] Because I am the conduit! I am the frame! Driven by currents that don't have a name! The body is working, the spirit has flown— Possessed by a masterwork isn't my own! I’m a ghost in my skin, just observing the light, As the ghosts that I carry take over the night! [Verse 2] [The frantic hip-hop pulse pushes the speed, guitar chords get sharper and more frantic] [Vocal delivery is intense, urgent, and razor-sharp] Hyper-connectivity, the synapses fuse, I am painting the portrait that I didn't choose! I look down at the page, I look down at the floor, And I don't recognise what I’m building anymore. It’s a physical takeover, a spiritual theft, There is nothing of my own awareness that's left. Hours are disappearing like smoke in a vent, While the skin and the bone are completely misspent. I’m a bystander trapped in the back of the car, Watching an alien version of me go too far! [Vocal pitch bends down, the punishing internal voice cuts in sharp and distorted] You think you're a god? You think this is divine? You’re just a broken antenna that's crossing the line! You’ve abandoned your body, you’ve abandoned your heart— You’re letting a phantom dismantle your parts! Shut up! Let it finish! Let the current ignite! I’m a passenger riding the lightning tonight! [Chorus] [Aggressive indie-rock strum reaches maximum volume, strings scraping fiercely] [Vocals push into a strained, shouted climax, full of desperate passion] Because I am the conduit! I am the frame! Driven by currents that don't have a name! The body is working, the spirit has flown— Possessed by a masterwork isn't my own! I’m a ghost in my skin, just observing the light, As the ghosts that I carry take over the night! [Outro] [The hip-hop pulse and strumming stop instantly. Only the low ominous bass drone remains] [Vocal delivery drops to a flat, completely detached, stone-cold monotone whisper] Auto pilot. Physical possession. The structure is finished. [The sudden, sharp click of a cassette tape stopping mid-breath] [Abrupt silence]
