Виктор Кирея Grit Under the Skin

Blue light bleeds behind my eyes
You scrub my soul with sterile lies
Fingers numb on glass so cold
But my blood still runs in rust and gold
Rain taps Morse code on the pane
Break the screen. Feel the pain
I rip the cord from socket veins
Let silence roar like a snapped guitar string

I’m not a pixel in your paradise
I’m grit under the skin
Not a ghost in your algorithm
I’m cracked asphalt, gasoline rain
And a howl that won’t fade in

Out where the streetlights choke on smoke
And billboards peel like broken hope
My guitar’s got splinters for a soul
Plays out of tune but plays me whole
Screens die soft like factory suns
Pixels fall like ash, undone
I walk barefoot on broken glass
Let it cut deep… at least I feel the past

I’m not a pixel in your paradise
I’m grit under the skin
Not a ghost in your algorithm
I’m cracked asphalt, gasoline rain
And a howl that won’t fade in

You build your heaven out of glass
But glass don’t breathe
You wash the dirt off every knee
But dirt’s the map of where I’ve been
I choose the crack. I choose the sting
I choose the wound that proves I’m living
Grit! Grit under the skin! Not a pixel — grit
Let it cut… let it cut just let me feel

I’m not a pixel in your paradise
I’m grit under the skin
Not a ghost in your algorithm
I’m cracked asphalt, gasoline rain
And a howl that won’t fade in