Id:

6a261802010ef02c6c031f4667f0953df6319171c2c8528036a681bd8e0e14b0

Prompt:

🧠 Lyrics Description: A chaotic, self-absorbed protest diary. The narrator wants to believe they’re making a difference, but they’re also tracking engagement like a hawk. The song mocks performative activism without dismissing the original intent. Every line drips with frustration, vanity, and the kind of tragic self-awareness that hits at 3 a.m. in a screen-lit bedroom. ⸻ 🎸 Style: Fast, messy, over-articulated emo-punk with tangled lyrics and stop-start rhythms. Vocals teeter between nasal and shouted, over crisp distorted guitars and sloppy, heartfelt drumming. Rhythms shift from tight punk bursts to dramatic spoken-word breakdowns. A guitar solo starts triumphant but dissolves into a tuneless, overbent mess. Think Say Anything’s verbosity + Pup’s catharsis + a marching band whistle that’s off-beat and out of place.

Image:

Description:

The image depicts a man standing in a crowd of people, looking off into the distance with a thoughtful expression. He appears to be the focal point of the scene, surrounded by a diverse group of individuals. The man's posture and facial expression convey a sense of contemplation and introspection, as if he is lost in thought or reflecting on his surroundings. The crowd itself is quite large, with people of varying heights and positions, creating a sense of depth and complexity in the scene.

Songs:

Lyrics:

Title: Engagement Over Revolution
Tags: Emo-Punk, Post-Hardcore, Punk Rock

I’m shouting into the void, but hey, look at the likes,  
Watch the numbers climb, while I’m staring at the sky,  
Waging wars with hashtags, no time for the real fight,  
A revolution of emojis, a retweet in the night.  
  
I’ve got the cause, I swear I’m making waves,  
But I’m checking my feed every second, gotta stay brave.  
What’s a real change if it doesn’t go viral?  
I’m caught in this loop, man, it's getting so tidal.  
  
You can call me a hero, but I’m just a post,  
All my words float away like a forgotten ghost.  
I want to do better, but my ego’s on fire,  
And I’ll trade the truth for a fancier flyer.  
  
(Stop, start, stop, start)  
Can I be honest for a second?  
This feels more like an addiction than progress.  
I’m mad as hell, but I’m just a tweet away—  
Doing it all for the dopamine, what do I have to say?  
  
Do you hear that drumbeat? It’s my own regret,  
Marching to the rhythm of a soul that’s in debt.  
No justice in my feed, just the next big stunt,  
I’m caught in a mirror maze, looking for a front.  
  
Here’s my confession: I wanted to be the change,  
But somewhere in the metrics, I lost my range.  
Look, I’m posting my pain, but is it even real?  
Can we fix this mess with a perfect appeal?  
  
A solo’s coming up, but I’ll bend it ‘til it’s broken,  
Screaming out loud, but the words feel frozen.  
Is it chaos if no one’s watching?  
Does it count if it’s not trending?  
I’m performing, I’m projecting…  
But the world’s still ending.