Anchorite

"∀uɔɥoɹᴉʇǝ" by RiggsggiR Produced by Neptune Initiative & .77 Celest Vocals by Cr0wn, Derek Miller, N4da, Jem4Aih & Toli Released on: 2025-11-02 Lyrics: The static hums, a low-grade fever burning through the wires in my skull. A taste of ash and sulfur on my tongue, before the words even unfurl. See the pupils dilate? Not for light, but for the shadows breeding in my wake. Every honest plea, a twisted echo, a promise I was born to break. Yeah, I watch the city bleed, a concrete heart on life support, And wonder if the pulse it lost, was the one I stole for sport. A rotten apple in the garden, a worm turns inside the core, Was I the snake uncoiling, or just the one who asked for more? The good book says "beware the beast," the number etched upon its brow, But what if the damn thing's human, and the beast is me right now? Am I the devil? Tell me, am I the fucking devil? With these hands, these thoughts, this poison pushing past the conscious level. Am I the brimstone breath, the whisper in the ear you dread? The architect of ruin, the one who leaves the good things dead? Am I the devil? Look me over, tell me, am I him? The crooked smile, the shattered grace, the shadow growing grim? The angels wept, they say, when Lucifer took his great dive, But I just feel this sickening laugh, just barely keeping me alive. Remember Eden? Yeah, I was there, though not in form, in spirit, Tearing down the fences, just to see how far the fall could go, to hear it. My words are thorns, my touch a blight, a festering wound beneath the skin. I see the purest soul and calculate the shortest path to sin. They build their altars, praise their god, they kneel and beg for mercy's hand, While I trace patterns in the dust, mapping out the barren land. This ain't no virtue signaling, this ain't no moral panic, nah, This is the internal gnawing, the primal, guttural, self-inflicted 'GAH!' The world's a mirror, showing back the rot I feel inside my gut, And every smiling face I meet, I see the darkness I have shut. Is it the lineage, the bloodline, the genes that spawned this curse? Or did I choose this path in secret, making bad things only worse? The ancient texts, the prophecies, the fire in the final days, I feel it bubbling up inside, in a thousand vile, wicked ways. Fuck their heaven, damn their hell, I'll carve my own damn niche, A solitary throne of filth, a self-made, poisoned ditch. No absolution, no redemption, just this question burning bright, Am I the source of all the dark, or just a reflection of the night? Am I the devil? Tell me, am I the fucking devil? With these hands, these thoughts, this poison pushing past the conscious level. Am I the brimstone breath, the whisper in the ear you dread? The architect of ruin, the one who leaves the good things dead? Am I the devil? Look me over, tell me, am I him? The crooked smile, the shattered grace, the shadow growing grim? Yeah… the devil… Just a man, right? Just a man. With cloven hooves and a master plan. Or just a beast in human skin, Letting all the damnation in. Am I the devil? (I think I might be.) The question… it lingers. Like the smell of sulfur on my fingers. Yeah. Am I an angel? Hear the whisper from the void, My hands are stained, all purity destroyed. No feathered wings, just flesh and calcified bone, A fractured spirit, on a broken, dusty throne. They scream of Revelation, a star ripped from the sky, A broken seraph, with a fire in its eye. That halo I once wore, now splinters on the floor, And all that's left is hunger, just craving something more. So tell me, are you an angel, or just another ghost in the machine? A divine operator, pulling the strings from some fucked-up scene? Was that the Lord's breath that left me gasping, or a goddamn blade to the gut? Are those your wings of ash, or the shadows where my sanity's shut? I walk through valleys where the gears grind and they moan, A twisted psalm carved in this fucking concrete stone. My teeth are grinding, tasting rust and bitter fear, Whispers of damnation, ringing raw and clear. No golden oil, just sweat and the stench of primal sin, A hollow temple, where the shadows burrow in. They speak of mercy, but I only know the pain, A thousand fallen feathers, washed out in the rain. You stand on that pedestal, preaching about the devil's own score, But I felt your touch like a fist, knocking me flat to the floor. Said you were sent from the heavens, a messenger bringing the light, But I only see the damn darkness, choking the last of my might. So tell me, preacher, with your gospel in your hand, Am I some cherub, cursed across this barren land? Or just the serpent, coiled within the dust and dread, With broken wings and blood, upon my fucking head? Yeah, your wings of ash, or the shadows where my sanity's shut. Tell me, you holy fucking fraud. Tell me what you really are.