[Verse 1]
"Man is a rope stretched between beast and overman,"
Nietzsche wrote in the storm, in the dark.
We kill with one hand, with the other we paint the stars,
Torn apart, a fractured work of art.
[Verse 2]
Burroughs whispered, "A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what’s going on,"
And oh, we know—the bombs, the blood, the neon dawn.
Yet Kerouac howled, "The only truth is music,"
So we dance in the ruins, lost in the mystic.
[Chorus]
Oh, we’re fire and dust, love and rust,
Creators and killers, in God we distrust.
The womb and the grave, the poem and the knife,
Forever at war—shadows and light.
[Verse 3]
The soldier writes home in the trenches at night,
His fingers still trembling, his soul half-alive.
"What's broken can't mend," but the artist still tries,
To stitch up the world with ink and with lies.
[Bridge]
"We are all doomed," but then—what’s the use?
The painter still dreams, the poet breaks loose.
The war never ends, but neither does spring,
The children still laugh, the church bells still ring.
[Chorus]
Oh, we’re fire and dust, love and rust,
Creators and killers, in God we distrust.
The womb and the grave, the poem and the knife,
Forever at war—shadows and light.
[Outro]
So hold the beast back, let the angel take flight,
Or burn in the chaos, blind in the night.
But if you must choose—then create, don’t destroy,
For the world’s already drowning in noise.
