The Way Out of Hell

(Whispered, deep reverb) Can you hear them? The shadows aren't just in the corner, they're in the marrow. We are walking through the valley, but the sun stopped setting years ago. It’s a permanent eclipse. Breathe in the static. Breathe out the smoke.

I’m looking for the way out of hell, but the exit sign is painted in my blood, I’m wrestling demons in the mud, flood the gates, let the misery swell, I’m screaming at the silence, ringing the death knell, tell me, where the hell is the way out? I’m pacing the floor, locking the door, wanting so much more, but the devil keeps asking for a down payment on my soul.

I wake up to the sound of static in my cranium, pacing like a beast inside a dark titanium stadium, the rhythm is a heartbeat fading, vibrating, suffocating, I’m running from the ghosts of the past that are always debating my character, tearing at the fabric of my sanity, vanity is the enemy, keep the weapon clean, keep the vision mean, I’m trapped in a scene that was written by a madman, looking for a pad and a pen to transcribe the end of the madness, but it’s endless, relentless, defenseless against the encroaching tide of the darkness that hides in the back of my mind. I see the light, but it’s flickering, dickering with the shadows, I’m narrowing the margins of the battlefield, never gonna yield, never gonna break, I’m shaking the earth with every mistake that I make, but I’m learning, yearning for a burning bush to show me the path, I’m doing the math, subtracting the lies and adding the scars.

I’m looking for the way out of hell, but the exit sign is painted in my blood, I’m wrestling demons in the mud, flood the gates, let the misery swell, I’m screaming at the silence, ringing the death knell, tell me, where the hell is the way out? I’m pacing the floor, locking the door, wanting so much more, but the devil keeps asking for a down payment on my soul.

They say that hell is a place, but I know it’s a state of existence, persistence is the key to the lock, tick-tock, watch the clock strip away every second of hope, I’m hanging by a rope that was braided by my own insecurities, impurities flowing through the veins, rains of acid washing away the remains of the dreams I once held, the stories I told, the legends I sold for a bit of gold that turned into lead in my hands. Understand, I’m a man on a mission to ignite the transmission, cutting the ties to the lies of the system, resisting the urge to submerge in the liquid fire of despair, I’m gasping for air, climbing the stairs to a heaven that’s constantly moving, proving my worth in the dirt, despite all the hurt, I’m wearing the badge of the fallen, the caller of spirits, hearing the chirps of the birds that are circling overhead, knowing I’m not dead but I’m definitely not alive in the way they define, I’m tracing the line between divine intervention and a mental detention, a tension that snaps like a twig in the winter.

(Fast, chopping flow) Break it down, tear it up, look in the cup, it’s empty, plenty of ghosts in the room, consuming the gloom, I’m zoom-in on the truth, like a youth with a mission to fission the fission of the atoms of my spirit, if you hear it, fear it, because the truth is a mirror and you’re looking at the cracked glass, passing the time, hoping the climb ends in a light that doesn’t burn the skin.

(Aggressive) Now I’m digging through the ashes of the bridges I burned, seeking the lessons I never quite learned, the fire is turning to embers, December is colder than the heart of a judge, hold a grudge? No, I’m holding a mirror to the face of the wicked, the ticket to salvation is paid in the blood of the ego, let it go, watch it flow down the drain, insane, the brain is a prison, a vision of prison-cell bars made of starlight and misery, mystery, history repeating itself in the form of a heartbeat that skips when it’s scared of the dark, I’m striking the spark in the middle of the deluge, the refuge is nowhere, the shelter is gone, but I’m still standing here, drawing the line, refining the rhyme, defining the time that I have left before the abyss swallows the rest of the mess that I made.

(Intense) Walking the tightrope over the gorge, forge the blade in the heat of the trauma, the drama is thick like the smog in the city, no pity, no remorse, stay the course, I’m a horse with the blinders, the finders of lost souls are looking for me, I’m the sea, I’m the storm, I’m the ghost in the machine, keep it pristine, even when the scene gets dirty, alert me when the dawn breaks, I’m making no mistakes, I’m cleaning the slates, closing the gates of the hell I created, debated, stated, and now I’m escaping.

The door is unlocked. The key was the pain. The way out was through. (Fading out) I’m out. I’m out. The shadows are just memories now. Gone.