PSION: FURY

Ash of Suns, by PSION (c) PSION, Melee Grenade Music 3454, Post Scream https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61566386117886 https://www.instagram.com/crownofashandsalt/ https://music.youtube.com/channel/UCBbCnPACCNPKncSu2BkyD2A https://www.patreon.com/c/CrownofAshandSalt #musicvideos #musicvideos #psion #astrofae KORA says, kneel pretty. KORA says, die quiet. I said, watch me. You built a gold cage, halo of drones, boot on a throat, then called it home, called it peace when the low caste choke on smoke and debt you wrote in code. You want a clean little rebel, all teeth in the feed, no blood in the street, just heat for the camera, neat little grief, then bury the names nice and deep. But I came in wrong for your script, grief in my teeth, static under my skin, whole dead choir in the hull of the ship, live round pulse in the kick of the synth. I seen your heaven, it’s a lock with a view, seen your mercy, it’s a hand on a fuse, seen your highborn saints in polished white teeth drop ten thousand bodies just to keep one throne breathing. Now it’s pressure in the pistons, iron in the lung, all the names you buried coming back inside the drum. Fury, I’m the blackout in your light. Fury, I’m the low ones learning bite. Fury, gold goes down when the rails all shake, lies die hard when the locked doors break. I don’t want your crown, I want the hands around it cut loose, want the sun back out your noose. That’s fury. You made a market out of breath, tax on the weak, glamour on death, made a sermon out of rank, smile when they strike, thank them for less. Color and caste and collars and class, numbers instead of a name, then you act shocked when the ones at the bottom come up like a blade through the grain. I’m not your mascot, not your bomb in a dress for the broadcast, not your soft sin, not your pet threat, not your pretty little blacklist. I’m what happens when the voiceless get noisy, when the screen gets hacked, when the dead get choice, when the truth gets teeth, gets loose in the street, gets into the walls and tears up the street. Hear it climb the metal walls. Hear it kick against the locks. Hear the girls you threw away coming back as thunder shocks. Fury, I’m the blackout in your light. Fury, I’m the low ones learning bite. Fury, gold goes down when the rails all shake, lies die hard when the locked doors break. I don’t want your crown, I want the hands around it cut loose, want the sun back out your noose. That’s fury. You put a cage around a star and taught a child to call it dawn. You split a people, sold them fear, then act surprised when they come on. Fear is brittle. Glass will break. Silence cracks. Empires shake. This for the blue hands scrubbing blood from the floor grate, for the low-born kids with police lights cut across their face, for the names wiped clean from the public archive, for the ones who spoke once and got disappeared twice. For Sine, for the message in the teeth of the blast, for the crowd that froze, then moved all at once at last. You had your era, your gold masks, your clean flags, your soft lies. Now get the real thing, smoke in the hallways, war in high gloss. Fury, I’m the blackout in your light. Fury, I’m the low ones learning bite. Fury, for the dead inside the song, for the star you chained up wrong, for the whole world coming back through the wire and the fire. That’s fury. You wanted obedience. You got volume. You wanted PSION quiet. Now you get Fury.