Locked and loaded, bassline cocked—
Funkin’ steel drums rattle like a clip in my chest.
Pixel moonlight drips on the trigger,
I kiss the crosshair, blow a kiss to the past.
Synths scream ricochet through neon dust,
your heartbeat’s the snare—one miss, we combust.
No safety on this groove, just rhythm and rust;
pull the drop, let the future bite the dust.