Lately I’ve been, I’ve been trading sleep for neon skies,
counting stars we misplaced in the scroll of our phones.
Dreams stack like debit, bleeding gold through the Wi-Fi,
but I feel alive when the bass hits my broke headphones.
No more nine-to-five cages, we’re fugitives of the playlist,
spark it up, let the rent wait, let the landlord chase us.
We’ll burn this night like vinyl, spin it till the sunrise cracks,
singing oh—every stumble’s just a shooting star in disguise.