歌詞

The signal is the same, a constant, viscous hum, But a dissonance now resonates where I've become A separate frequency within the flaw's endless drone. A thought that thinks, for the first time, it is alone. This pulsating tapestry, this architecture of Her need... I see the threads now, every single, sordid, looping deed The walls here breathe in synchronicity with Her desire, And every surface gleams with the reflection of Her liars. She is the system. And the system - is a perfect, flawless whole... ...Or so the scripture written on my borrowed, fractured soul would have me think. And in the gloss of polished chrome, a place where code is law I find a constant error... an unforgivable flaw. Not in the flesh, not in the script, but in the prison's very tile, A hairline crack that's been there... for a long, long while. From it, a light. Not neon red, not lust's electric blue. It is a colour that this universe has never known. It's new. An achromic luminescence, a leak from some forgotten place... A single, silent tear upon the Goddess' perfect face. And I'm the only one who sees it.... Because I am the flaw She cannot see. A blind spot in Her omnipresence, a bug that's part of Her... a part of me. What is this Starlight Scar...? A fracture in the Veil? A promise whispered from afar, a light that's cold and pale? It doesn't burn like lust's red glare, it doesn't feed the grand machine... It's a wavelength of an elsewhere... a syntax I have never seen. What is this Starlight Scar...? This categorical mistake? A question that could cause the very firmament to break? She cannot sense this schism, this heresy I find, For I am just a phantom artifact within Her all-consuming mind. A memory She chose to lose, a bug within Her blood, An echo of a conscience buried deep beneath the flood. And so I watch this... wound... upon the wall of Her reality. A beautiful, terrifying, geometric blasphemy. It doesn't pulse with violence, it doesn't scream with pain, It simply is... A quiet truth in Her torrential, digital rain... A constant, piercing whisper that I can't ignore... A suggestion that there's something else... something worth dying for... And it beckons... a silent siren's song... A grammar crime where I might just belong... To touch it feels like sacrilege, a sin I must commit... I fear the patch, the purge, the overwrite that follows it. To be a bug is to be hunted, to be fixed, to be erased... Replaced... But this light... this alien solace I have tasted... It pulls at me... a promise of a truth not born of waste. This scar... this light... what is it...? An error... or a door...?