Selfie
slow dark trap with symphonic doom influences, calm cold deadpan sinister male vocals, vocal glitches effects reverb echo, slight dubstep influence, dark synth glitches, strong nu metal influences
Selfie
slow dark trap with symphonic doom influences, calm cold deadpan sinister male vocals, vocal glitches effects reverb echo, slight dubstep influence, dark synth glitches, strong nu metal influences
Lyrics
intro
The filter airbrushes the cracks upon the wall.
The rented luxury car is parked just for the camera's call.
They stitch the fake logos onto threadbare, shaky seams.
To sell a dream of opulence in curated, digital streams.
They'll skip a week of groceries for that golden chain to flash.
A sacrament of surface in the economic crash.
The yacht behind them in the shot is just a Photoshop green screen.
A testament to living for the things that aren't what they seem.
The Selfie (is a lie)
The money (makes you high)
Your value's (in the feed)
A number (not a need)
The Selfie (is a lie)
The money (makes you high)
Your value's (in the feed)
A number (not a need)
They buy the followers in batches from a bot-farm in the void.
To simulate the influence they're desperate to avoid they lack.
They'll quote the crypto guru promising the moon and Lamborghinis.
While secretly they're money-muling for some vague, online tyrannies.
They preach "happiness is purchased" from a minimalist's scornful height.
While looking down on poverty with all their borrowed, fragile might.
Their identity's an index of their theoretical worth.
A decimal-point existence since the moment of their birth.
The Selfie (is a lie)
The money (makes you high)
Your value's (in the feed)
A number (not a need)
The Selfie (is a lie)
The money (makes you high)
Your value's (in the feed)
A number (not a need)
interlude - synth glitches over dark dubstep synth
They crave the secret society, the velvet rope, the party.
A shadow of exclusivity to feel less broken, less hearty.
They'll justify the shady profit, the morally grey scheme.
To fuel the dying embers of this bankrupt, waking dream.
The mirror holds a question that the filters can't erase:
"Are you happy in this hollow, hyper-monetized space?"
Look past your own reflection to the needy and the worn.
Is your greed just a costume, so tattered and so torn?
The Selfie (is a lie)
The money (buys the sky)
Your value's (in the greed)
A number (to be freed)
The Selfie (is a lie)
The money (buys the sky)
Your value's (in the greed)
A number (to be freed)
The algorithm’s promise:
You are what you pretend.
But when the screen goes dark…
The performance has to end.
The Selfie (is a lie)
The money (buys the sky)
Your value's (in the greed)
A number (to be freed)
The Selfie (is a lie)
The money (buys the sky)
Your value's (in the greed)
A number (to be freed)
outro
The Selfie… (is…)
The money… (mine?)
Your value's…
…a number…