LOREM IPSUM DOLOR SIT AMET, CONSECTETUR 404 [Intro] [low, distorted hum beneath the vocal] there's a stage inside my ribcage an audience of one that keeps me sick and the only hymns i know are the ones i wrote to a ghost who doesn't hear the shit. [Verse 1] i trace the script right on my skin with a rustin' safety pin call each scar a standing O for a pain i'll never show found my chapel in the static on a broken tv screen bowed my head to the white noise and rehearsed how to feel clean the character is bleeding through wrote him so well that he became true now i can't tell which lines are mine— is it my pain, or just a good design? [Pre-Chorus] you offered cures, i called them cheap a script too shallow and too deep my stage is built on what i broke the punchline's in the way i choke [Chorus] i'm just hummin' hymns that don't exist to a boy god I'll always miss got a mouth full of dead psalms and phantom spit and i'll worship the abyss 'til i forget it ain't holy, it's a feedback loop it ain't grace, just a sad troupe i'm just hummin' hymns that don't exist 'cause the echo sounds a bit like his. [Verse 2] the critics in my blood want more scream for an encore of the war so i open up the wound again remind myself where to begin my communion is the ink i taste my absolution is the page i waste i wrote the monster, now i play the part call that my masterpiece, my bleeding art and as i hum along i start to blur— am I the writer or the character? [Pre-Chorus] you offered silence, called it health i built a kingdom from myself my faith is carved from bone and spite he is the darkness with the light. [Chorus] i'm just hummin' hymns that don't exist to a boy god I'll always miss got a mouth full of dead psalms and phantom spit and i'll worship the abyss 'til i forget it ain't holy, it's a feedback loop it ain't grace, just a sad troupe i'm just hummin' hymns that don't exist 'cause the echo sounds a bit like his. [Bridge / Breakdown] [Whispered, intimate, like a confession to the self] Is this what you wanted? Is the pain poetic enough for you yet? ...Am I performing me, or is the memory performing you? [Screamed, the feedback loop breaking] THE CURTAIN'S MY OWN SKIN! THE CROWD IS JUST THE GHOST I LET BACK IN! I BUILT A GOD FROM BONE AND GRIEF AND NOW I'M STUCK WORSHIPPING MY UNBELIEF! THIS ISN'T ART! IT'S A FUCKING CAGE! AND WE'RE THE ONLY ONES WHO ARE STUCK ON STAGE! [Final Chorus] i'm just hummin' hymns that don't exist to a boy god I'll always miss got a mouth full of dead psalms and phantom spit and I will bleed into the hiss 'til I don't exist it ain't holy, it's a feedback loop it ain't grace, just a sad troupe i'm just hummin' hymns that don't exist while the ghost just hums along. [Outro] [The screaming stops. Only the low, distorted hum remains.] The show's over. But the humming isn't. .
ADIPISCING ELIT. NULLAM IN DUI MAURIS.
VIVAMUS ANTE EROS, IACULIS QUI INTERDUM EU.

PRAESENTIUM ID FELIS ID MI ACCUMSAN ELEIFEND.
AEQUAM ERAT VOLUTPAT. CLASS APTENT TACITI.
SOCIOSQU AD LITORA TORQUENT PER CONUBIA NOSTRA.
PER INCEPTOS HIMENAEOS. NUNC ID DICTUM.