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drunk ancestor - cancelled dawn كلمات أغنية

“hey… it’s me again. just wondering if you’re still there. anyway. forget it.”

ghost in my airpods, tape hiss preacher
fisher with the fade, i’m a haunt this teacher
burial bassline, drain on the speaker
skip like a needle on a dream that’s weaker

dead malls echo with 808s
wore demna to the function like a funeral drape
back to the future is my dopamine fate
still mourning futures that we didn’t create

i’m joy division on a busted cassette
looping “insight” while i pace my debt
no past, no now, just old private jet
holding pattern through collapse, can’t land yet

balenci dropping bombs like a post_soviet ghost
trauma as a silhouette excess with a toast
fashion week séance with capital’s host
every fit’s a relic, every walk a boast

drip like grief, commodify your pain
stare and the gram with a thousand_yard brains
balenciaga’s chapel, recant your disdain
for the gods of the mall who forgot our names
mourn the playlist, not the artist’s name
spotify ghosts in a vaporwave frame
i’m deep in the crate where nostalgia decays
and the beat don’t drop, it just withers away

late_stage loops, no exit wound
we tock tick dance in spectral rooms
ai archives write all my tunes
i spit borrowed pain in a borrowed tomb

new memphis flow with a postmodern limp
gram got the ghosts in the club with the switch
99 got cancelled before they canceled prince
and we scroll through ruins just to scratch on the itch

burial snare in my london vein
tear through time like some tears in rain
no chorus, just grinds and sounds and shame
voice got me f_cked up say “you’re not the same”

vinyl grief, press play on despair
it’s not lo_fi it’s life un_repaired
cl!ck snap skip? that’s the sound that you care
where the present don’t live, and the future ain’t there

heard a sample of a laugh from 2003
played it backward heard it say “set me free”
but the tempo was a drag and the loop did agree
that the past’s undead and it feeding on me
no future in the club, just a looped motif
deleuze in the booth, nodding under his grief
said, “freedom’s a vector you sample beneath
but they flattened the curve, gave aesthetics some t__th”

so we dance in ruins with designer resolve
with a work in progress soul we cannot evolve
each tracks a relic, each drop’s a dissolve
in the archive abyss where no answers revolve

this ain’t music, it’s séance as math
this ain’t grief, it’s a tiktok laugh
this ain’t style, it’s a trauma graft
this ain’t a verse it’s a f_cking epitaph

so i walk through voids with my shadow in loops
got old mp3s in my balenci boot
my therapist says “dig for the root”
but all i find’s static and a dial_up flute

there’s no punchline coming just posthumous sound
no club no cars it’s a burial ground
i speak for the kids who dream in rounds
who never got out of that haunted town

- drunk ancestor

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