Don’t talk to me about dialogue—this ain’t a fucking TED Talk stage,
This is rage gone viral, teeth-first, clawing through the digital cage.
Truth ain’t just dead—it’s gutted, strung up like a warning sign,
And we dance beneath its corpse like it’s divine fucking design.
Every app’s a loaded weapon, every screen’s a baited trap,
We scroll through ruin like it’s breakfast,
hearts gone hollow, spines gone snap.
You think you’re informed? You’re infected. You think you’re woke? You’re programmed meat.
This is mass psychosis packaged as enlightenment on repeat.
Your feed is fentanyl—micro-dosed just right to keep you dumb,
Addicted to that dopamine while the bastards beat the drum.
Truth ain’t inconvenient, it’s obsolete—it doesn’t trend,
It’s what gets buried under hashtags when it doesn’t serve the end.
There’s no debate, just gladiators, avatars with sharpened teeth,
Screaming slogans over bodies as the data rots beneath.
We fed the beast our empathy, our nuance, and our spine—
Now it shits out half-truth cannons while we chant “This side is mine.”
Kill the signal, smash the towers,
Pull the plug and salt the ground.
Nothing sacred, nothing honest—
Just the echo of the drowned.
Truth is slaughtered on a livestream,
Framed in filters, fed to mobs,
While we pray to tech’s apostles
As they finish off the job.
I hope your algorithm chokes you, I hope your curated thoughts decay,
I hope the lies you shared like gospel eat your conscience clean away.
This ain’t dissent, it’s digital execution on demand,
Where the guillotine’s a trending topic, sharpened by a botnet’s hand.
The war is lost, we sold the peace, we auctioned off the flag and past,
Wrapped it in conspiracy, lit it up and watched it last.
And the only god we worship now is outrage on a screen,
Because the truth is far too quiet for this blood-soaked war machine.
No more dinner table bullshit, no more “let’s agree to split,”
Your facts are forged, your calm’s a muzzle, and I’ve had enough of it.
This is the sound of silence murdered, this is reason set on fire,
This is what it looks like when the liars own the wire.
No epilogue, no moral center,
No soft grace to leave behind—
Just a world that let its conscience
Bleed to death inside the mind.
Static and mirrors,
Nothing left to understand—
Just the ashes of a signal
And a screen stuck in your hand.