Pink Afterglow

{resonant sustained synth note,

pen scratching on paper transitioning to driving drum beat} Fluorescent faces fading

in the morning light Was it love,

or just the architecture of the night?

You had the lines,

but I was holding the pen I’m archiving the playwright,

I’m not playing again {glitch-shimmer on snakebite} Tattoo on the waistline,

bassline in the air

I’m erasing the script,

the ghost is no longer there {clear reflective firm vocal delivery}

Why did it take

me ages to say?

I wasn’t your cliché,

I’m walking away Oh no,

the script is flipped on the page This is the rhythm,

this is my coming of age {layered harmony ethereal and powerful} My

coming of age.

The signal is set.

{anthemic driving soaring high-gain production} Quarrying new ground,

burning the CDs to ash The Iliad of the heart,

surviving the crash You couldn’t read the prose,

you couldn’t see the scope Leaving you behind,

cutting the rope {rapid-fire vocal chop on it's my song}

It’s my stage, it’s my song,

it’s my life

{confident dismissive delivery}

Silence sent away.

Blood on the page.

You stole the love,

but couldn't keep the cage.

I made you the star,

but I am the stage.

{whisper very close-mic intense} This is my coming of age.

{bass pulse and rising shimmering synth-pad}

I wish I could’ve seen it...

God.

100% Tiguidou.

The rewrite is complete.

{raw intimate 2am bedroom studio vibe,

book closing sound, light flicking

off} {final triumphant close}