[Intro] You wake to a verdict dressed up as a face, A number beside you, a rank in a race. The little red badge keeps a hand on your sleeve; It knows what you fear, what you hide, what you grieve. [Verse 1: Rap] Scroll past the bruise, past the joke with a blade, Past the stranger whose private collapse is displayed. They call it a platform, then sharpen the floor; You trip, they record, then they ask you for more. A thousand small judges with polished-out names, All feeding the furnace, all claiming no blame. You type, then erase it. You breathe, then you check. The room keeps its count while it tightens your neck. [Pre-Chorus] Who taught your hands to reach for the wound? Who made a crowd out of one locked room? [Chorus] You are not a person here, you are a target in a frame; They pass your hurt around and make a sport of your name. Every heart a little hook, every comment dressed as care; When the whole world wants a witness, nobody is there. [Verse 2: Rap] A clipped-out confession, a joke with no breath, A screenshot survives what the speaker meant. They sell you the cure in a sponsored disguise, Then feed you the panic that keeps you online. Your friend turns to numbers; your silence looks guilty; The loudest one wins, and the kind ones go missing. No clean little lesson, no switch to undo— The machine takes its cut from the worst part of you. [Spoken Bridge] Look at the screen. Look at what it asks you to become. A witness. A judge. A willing little blade. And when you finally put it down, The room is still full of voices. [Final Chorus] You are not a person here, you are a target in a frame; They pass your hurt around and make a sport of your name. Every heart a little hook, every comment dressed as care; When the whole world wants a witness, nobody is there. Nobody is there. [Outro] The badge is still red. The room is still watching. Your hand moves again.
