[Intro – instrumental]

[Tense, minimal bassline. Dry, tight drums. No reverb. Creates unease without chaos. Sets a detached, observational mood.]
[Verse 1 – The Absurdity of Constructed Realities]

[Calm, rhythmic spoken delivery. Clear enunciation. Ironic, not angry. Each line ends with a slight pause for impact.]
You wanted wet? You begged for meat?
Here—swallow labels, taste the sweet.
Fifty genders? Why not more?
Sun won’t rise unless you roar!

You scream at dawn till skies turn pink—
Demand a world that thinks like you think.
Facts don’t care about your feelings.
So you coined a word—and called it true.
[Verse 2 – The Hero as Hustler]

[Slightly more driven rhythm. Bass becomes more active. Vocals remain articulate, not shouted—cold clarity over rage.]
He begs with hands, but wears a crown,
They call it “bravery” when he’s let down.
A puppet dressed in borrowed guns,
Sells your sons for “freedom” funds.

Once we called it whoring—plain and loud.
Now it’s “sacrifice” beneath a cloud
Of flags and hashtags, smoke and noise…
While real wounds bleed without a voice.
[Chorus – Core Question]

[Dry, direct, no harmonies or effects. Repetition as accusation.]
What’s wrong with this world?
It smiles while it bleeds—and calls it ‘progress’.
What’s wrong with this world?
Ask the bombs—they’re still ‘spreading democracy’.
[Break – instrumental pause]

[Full stop for 4 beats. Then a single muted bass note holds. Drums drop out. Creates space to breathe. Lets the listener feel the weight before the next verse.]
[Verse 3 – The Sleepwalking Audience]

[Rhythm returns, slightly faster. Urgent but controlled. Like a warning whispered through static.]
The world rolls toward Armageddon’s edge—
You watch cartoons and chew your ledge
Of popcorn dreams. What’s wrong upstairs?
Your brain’s on mute, lost in the glare.

Get off the couch. Unplug the feed.
Your silence plants the tyrant’s seed.
Tomorrow’s late—today’s the cost.
Or will you wait till everything’s lost?
[Verse 4 – The Myth of the Garden]

[Slower tempo. Heavy, deliberate bass. Vocals almost documentary—like a newsreel from hell.]
You call yourselves the Garden now—
But your yellow brick road?
It’s paved with bones.

Colonies built on stolen breath,
Slaves for cotton, debt for death.
Two world wars, a fascist spark—
Then: “We’re the light!”
…after dark.

You washed your hands, rewrote the page—
But history smells of the same old rage.
[Verse 5 – Tech & Media: The New Priests]

[Nervous, twitchy groove. Staccato guitar or synth pulse. Paranoia with precision.]
You said tech would save us all—
Now pagers blow up city walls.
You “connect the human race,”
While selling secrets face-to-face.

I feel your breath inside my phone—
each time I speak, I’m not alone.

And beauty? “Art will heal the world!”
…while billion-dollar films launder gold.
Reporters fight for rights abroad—
And blindfold truth back home. How odd.
[Chorus – Repeat]

What’s wrong with this world?
It smiles while it bleeds—and calls it ‘progress’.
What’s wrong with this world?
Ask the bombs—they’re still ‘spreading democracy’.
[Outro – Cold Fade]

[Bass holds one low note. Drums stop. Final line spoken close-mic, dry, no reverb.]
Your road to Eden…
is a graveyard with a nicer name.

[Silence.]