I ride through neon wars, a ghost in chrome chains,
fortune’s bullet spelling my name.
Steel rain whispers—reload, breathe, ignite;
scarred moon funds my night.
I sell the sunrise, buy back the scars,
barter my heartbeat for falling stars.
Trigger sings low—an outlaw’s hymn—
every goodbye pays the price of sin.
Still I march, broke yet unfurled,
a soldier of fortune in a bankrupt world.