Is there light behind the curtain?
Or just a backlit screen, rehearsing?
They dress the wounds in velvet speech,
But every promise stays out of reach.
The air is thick with clean decay,
Order kept in disarray.
A painted calm, a silent war—
They lock the truth behind the door.
(Pre-Chorus)
Is there a voice beneath the static?
A spark that wasn’t manufactured?
Beneath this glass and smoke parade,
Is something real we haven’t betrayed?
(Chorus)
Is there hope?
Not the kind they sell in stone-faced scripts—
But the one that claws from sinking ships.
Is there truth?
Not wrapped in flags or broadcast rights—
But the kind that keeps us up at night.
Is there?
(Verse 2)
Is there time left to remember
What it means to feel, not just to render?
Their comfort is a clever leash,
A dream composed to dull the breach.
We chant in rhythm, nod and smile,
Trained to love the turnstile.
But somewhere deep beneath the stage,
There’s a voice that doesn’t age.
(Breakdown – slow, heavy)
Is there a flame beneath this frost?
Is there a soul that hasn’t been lost?
We walk on scripts, they feed us form,
But in our veins—there brews a storm.
(Bridge – half-screamed, half-spoken)
Is there a crack in the mirror?
Is there breath in the fear?
Or have we traded our will
For the safety of veneer?
(Final Chorus – layered vocals, swelling)
Is there hope?
Not the kind that fits their frame—
But the kind that burns without a name.
Is there truth?
Not clean, not sold, not dressed in white—
But jagged, raw, and full of fight.
Is there… still a way to be awake?
Is there… something real they couldn’t fake?
Is there?
(Outro – soft and slow)
If there is…
Let it rise
Where the silence breaks.
FeedTheLies
