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Song
Don't Ask What's Underneath (Crimson Remix)
Crimson Omen
·
Apr 2026
·
4:18
female vocals
industrial darkwave
dark industrial pop
102 bpm
765 plays
0
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Lyrics
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Full text
You keep staring at the line of my throat
like the black knit means something,
and it does.
It is not fashion,
not modesty,
not distance.
It is pressure,
restraint,
a seam pulled tight
across a place that should never open.
You ask what I’m hiding
as if curiosity is harmless,
as if wanting makes you brave,
as if names don’t wake things.
But every time you say “show me,”
something shifts against my skin,
something warm and patient,
something that has learned to listen
from the inside.
I know the sound it makes
when it turns toward a voice.
I know the way it presses upward
when someone looks too long.
That is why the collar stays high.
That is why I do not let your hands rest there.
Leave the black knit where it is.
Leave the seam unbroken.
Some things stay quiet
only when they’re covered.
Some things stay mine
only when they’re hidden.
Don’t ask what’s underneath.
Keep your eyes above the collar.
There is something at my throat
that should never meet your gaze.
Don’t ask what’s underneath.
The black knit is not for comfort.
It is the only thing between us
and a mouth that is learning
how to say your name.
It started as a heat under the jaw,
then a pulse,
then a second rhythm
folded underneath my own.
No blood,
no wound worth showing,
just a soft split under the skin
and a breath that was not mine
breathing with me.
Now it sleeps there,
folded inward,
wet and listening.
When I speak too much,
it mouths the words
a beat too late.
When I stay silent,
it feeds on that instead.
When someone touches the collar,
it wakes
and leans into the warmth
like recognition.
You think if you see it clearly
you’ll understand it,
but understanding is the worst thing
you could offer.
It likes attention.
It likes being witnessed.
It likes the moment
a face changes
from doubt to belief.
That is the moment
it remembers.
I have seen what happens
when the fabric comes down.
The room goes still
before anything moves.
Then it speaks in my voice,
only cleaner,
only hungrier.
It does not lunge.
It unfolds.
And once it has seen you properly,
once it has learned
the shape of your fear,
it does not let that knowledge go.
Don’t ask what’s underneath.
Don’t make me prove this.
I am not protecting a secret;
I am containing a consequence.
Don’t ask what’s underneath.
Leave the black knit where it is.
It is the last good barrier
between your face
and something that has been waiting
behind mine.
Don’t ask what’s underneath.
If it answers back,
it will not stop with me.
Leave it covered.
Leave it breathing.
Don’t ask what’s underneath.
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