霓虹像刀鋒，劃破掌心宿命線

我在廢墟出口，把理想折成紙飛機

血泊里翻找微弱火焰，照亮黑暗前路

耳機里心跳蓋過嘲笑

我用裂縫里的光，寫下生的決心

把每一次窒息，當(dāng)成重生序章

掙扎若宿命，那就刻進(jìn)骨頭

直到我倒下，也要向天空高舉拳頭

讓夜聽見我的聲音——我仍相信！

I’m the king of the skyline, crown of neon and rust,

throne on a rooftop where the subway sighs like a busted lung.

I count my scars in graffiti, each tag a knight that bled for me;

my scepter’s a rusted antenna conducting midnight electricity.

Below, the avenues bow in sodium light,

rows of yellow jesters kneel, taxis blink in fright.

I speak once—echoes riot, bricks answer back with flame;

one whisper and the whole damn city remembers my name.

I rule without mercy, yet love every shattered street,

because broken concrete’s the only crown that’ll never cheat.