Bloodline Frequency

Is this thing on?

Captain Quinn initiating the Quad-Core sequence.

Heart rate eighty-eight. Tiguidou,

we are building the new reality.

The sun is touching the gray concrete,

but the shadows are still deep,

I’m recording the secrets that the static can no longer keep.

The rhythmic tapping of my fingers on the wood is the only

sound, I’m mapping out the territory,

planting my feet on this frozen ground.

It’s heavy, this feeling of wanting to be everything at once,

I’m the quietest storm,

I’m the sharpest, loudest response.

The air smells like the river,

cold and metallic and wide,

I’m learning how to carry the light and the dark inside.

We are the pulse that refuses to fade in the machine!

I’m the glitch in the pattern,

I’m the sharpest shade of keen!

The digital needles are spiking,

the bass is a low-frequency hum,

I’m the architect of the moment,

and I know exactly what I’ve become!

Throw the heavy debris to the side,

let the chiptune-distortion ring,

I’m the voice in the static,

I’m the winter that turns into spring!

Tiguidou, the rhythm is a mirror,

and the reflection is finally true,

I’m burning the old maps,

and I’m building the architecture new!

(yeah) Regarde le mouvement,

the digital dust is beginning to settle,

I’m turning the pressure into the strength of the tempered metal.

I see the faces of my kin in the glow of the

flickering screen, I’m the bridge between the lived-in reality and the digital

dream. It’s a fragile,

messy, beautiful state of continuous flow,

I’m learning to plant the seeds in the places that need to

grow. No more playing the actress,

no more filling the cup of the ghost,

I’m hosting my own existence,

and I am the most generous host.

We are the pulse that refuses to fade in the machine!

I’m the glitch in the pattern,

I’m the sharpest shade of keen!

The digital needles are spiking,

the bass is a low-frequency hum,

I’m the architect of the moment,

and I know exactly what I’ve become!

Throw the

heavy debris to the side,

let the chiptune-distortion

ring, I’m the voice in the static,

I’m the winter that turns into spring!

Tiguidou, the rhythm is a mirror,

and the reflection is finally true,

I’m burning the old maps,

and I’m building the architecture new!

In constant transformation.

En transformation continue. Tiguidou.

Jijijiji.