Voices in my cortex screaming “pop the lead”,
dopamine grenades tick inside my head.
Saint in the mirror, demon in the thread,
I lace the beat with cyanide, watch the bass drop dead.
Broke my halo on the kick, now the snare got fangs,
trading sanity for views—yeah, the algorithm hangs.
Laughing while I drown, middle finger to the meds,
if God’s in the details, I just shot the feds.