Circuit Bastion

Flight recorders don't lie.

They just collect

the

data while the plane

is going down. Keep the data encrypted.

Listen.

I treat my mind like a black box flight recorder,

Keeping every move in a strict,

hidden order. They want to know the damage,

want to know the flight path,

Want to see the wreckage so they can do the math.

But I don't give 'em signals,

I don't give 'em telemetry,

I look 'em in the eye while I'm altering the chemistry.

They’re out here telling secrets just to feel alive,

While I am staying silent just to ensure the hive survives.

No pilot announcements over the PA speaker,

The louder you brag,

the more your engine grows weaker.

Don't lay your blueprints on everybody's desk,

Some people smile but they’re waiting for the mess.

Lock up the vision,

don't you make a sound,

Let the heavy weight of your success shake the ground.

Yeah, don't tell your dreams to everyone around,

They’ll dig a grave before it's out the ground.

Let the bass hit low,

let the truth be found,

Move in shadows... then shake the ground.

They want to diagnose your problems from the outside lookin' in,

Hoping that your losses outnumber your next win.

So I pull the transponder,

disappear from the radar screen,

Navigating through the storm,

completely unforeseen. Let 'em speculate on how the empire was built,

Looking for a crack or a drop of blood split.

But the shell is made of titanium,

the code is locked tight,

An unbreakable container moving through the midnight flight.

You see the landing,

but you never saw the cruise,

That’s exactly how you win without a single thing to lose.

Data stream closed. Let 'em look for the wreckage.

They won't find a trace.

Shh... (shhh)