3. BLEAK: DEEP DIVE

The surface of this record is scratched with lyrics that ruin the music beneath. What was once an object of sound has been turned into an act of destruction — a desperate mark that destroys its own foundation.

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I’m singing just to sing

I’ve got nothing left to say

Maybe I’m —

Better off being mute.

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BLEAK shifts the lens onto the artist. Beyond the machinery of labels, charts, and algorithms, there is also the songwriter, the producer, the performer. Each one complicit in keeping the cycle alive, pushing out music without meaning, singing without anything left to say, releasing for visibility rather than artistry and expression.

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It would seem I’m singing with no brain

Take my voice, my words, my mouth

Cause I shouldn’t get a say,

When I’m this bleak!

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This is the human cost of disposability: art emptied out, yet still performed. A voice held to the mic out of fear of silence. Tracks released as a gesture of relevance, a plea not to be forgotten.

 

The scratched lyrics scar the record the same way these acts scar the culture. Every shallow release leaves its trace. The grooves that once held music are destroyed in the name of permanence, yet what remains is absence.

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I’m worse than a dried up river,

A mountain peak,

Scorching desert,

The howling wind.

My art’s gone bitter,

A withered creek.

The pits of hell

Burning endlessly.

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To make music with nothing to say is to strip sound of its soul. It is to perform presence rather than meaning, to turn creativity into noise. If the music released is only an empty shell, a scratch on the surface of time - can it truly leave a lasting mark?