Motor-City Malice!

[I] You can smell the rust before you hear the beat. This isn't a playground; it’s an engine room, it was forged in the heat of the midnight shift. When the world turned its back on the 313, we found our rhythm in the static. Breathe in the exhaust. Feel the vibration of the concrete. The Devil’s clocking in. This is the heartbeat of a dying giant, We don't need your light; we thrive in the shadows of the smokestacks. (Shrine!)
[1] Deep in the basement of a belleville dream, the harbinger of death starts to scream. Four-on-the-floor like a piston’s strike, forging a sound that the world didn’t like. The music institute—a blackened hall, where the hallowed covenant is written on every wall. Cybernetic soul in a cadillac frame, the birth of the future, the end of the game! Wire and bone, fused in the dark, lighting the fuse with a high-voltage spark. Locked in a circuit that never can break, feeding the hunger of every mistake. (Hallowed!)
[C] The community is a scrap yard! The clubs are just shells! We’re ringing the toll of the the toll of acheron bells! The lord of the necropolis is buying the lot, while the actual spirit is left there to rot! No! The gears are grinding, the oil is thick, the poison is spreading, it’s making us sick! But the beat doesn't falter, the bass doesn't quit, we’re burning the world just to stay in the pit! (Shrine!)
[2] The assembly line stops, the silence is loud, a city of shadows under a soot-colored cloud. The foreman watches as the steel turns to dust, a kingdom of chrome surrendered to rust. But in the wreckage, the sub-bass grows, a frequency only the derelict knows. We’re changing form, in the eye of a mechanical storm. We scavenge the ruins for the soul of the machine! (Hallow!)
[C] The community is a scrap yard! The clubs are just shells! We’re ringing the toll of the the toll of acheron bells! The lord of the necropolis is buying the lot, while the actual spirit is left there to rot! No! The gears are grinding, the oil is thick, the poison is spreading, it’s making us sick! But the beat doesn't falter, the bass doesn't quit, we’re burning the world just to stay in the pit! (Shrine!)
[B] Power cut. Lights out. Still loud. The turbines never sleep! The pressure is rising, the boilers will burst, quench the undying industrial thirst! Grinding! - (Tearing!) - The metal is screaming! 
[3] Behold the skyline of jagged glass and iron, a jagged crown for a city of fire. Building our empires in the light of the fray. No mercy for the weak, only the rhythm of the downward flow. The sky is a bruise, the river is ink, the ghosts of the union are howling in pain, while we dance in the downpour of acid rain!
[O] The machines are gone, but the ghost remains. Techno in the marrow, metal in the veins. Detroit doesn't die. It just gets harder. It becomes the steel. It becomes the stone. It becomes the sound of the world left alone. We are the malice. (We are the Engine!) We are the final, cold-blooded vengeance!  - Hallowed!!

High Energy - 105 BPM/ Detroit Style - Dark Techno, Industrial Techno, Witch House, male.