the beast released

Lyrics

intro
(​The deadbolt’s echo was the last thing I heard of that life,
A decade of silence cut clean with a dull-edged knife).
They stood at the gate with their clipboards and lies,
While I looked at the world with these cold, "predator eyes".
Handed me a plastic bag, my life in a pile of debris,
But they forgot that a "shark doesn't stop once it’s out in the sea".
I didn’t want a hand-out, a hug, or a "welcome home" sign,
I wanted 92-octane and a soul-crushing redline.
​I found my salvation in a garage on the edge of the map,
A heavy-iron relic waking up from a long-running nap.
The smell of the grease was the first thing that felt like the truth,
A mechanical ritual to reclaim the fire of my youth.
I bled the brakes, felt the compression hold steady and deep,
"While the rest of the world was in a suburban, tax-paying sleep".
One turn of the key and the cylinders started to pray,
A low-frequency rumble that chased all the demons away.
​The Velocity of the Damned
​Now I’m going hard, pushing north of 150,
The lights of the city looking cheap, looking shifty.
Got my foot to the floor, pushing steel through the air,
With the weight of the penitentiary still in my hair.
I’m a high-velocity chopper, syllables hitting like hail,
Writing an 8-minute epic that doesn't belong in a jail.
I was looking for more than a bunk and a concrete view,
Now I’m hunting the horizon for something that’s actually true.
​The intake is screaming, a West Coast G-funk refrain,
I’m the high-octane cure for a low-frequency pain.
The asphalt is folding, the world is a blur in the glass,
Watching the ghosts of my failures come, flicker, and pass.
I’m 150 deep, where the physics begin to distort,
Far away from the sirens and the lies of the court.
The chassis is vibrating, a rhythmic, mechanical heart,
Tearing the memory of that cage completely apart.
​The Midnight Docuseries
​I’m filming a movie where the hero is covered in oil,
A story of loyalty, blood, and the weight of the soil.
Every mile is a frame, every bridge is a scene,
The most honest perspective this valley has ever seen.
They said "never let him out," said "the man is a threat,"
But they haven't seen the masterpiece I’m building just yet.
I’m a restorer of things that the world tried to break,
Taking the pieces and doubling the value at stake.
​I see the reflection of a man who refused to be tilled,
With a catalog of anthems that have yet to be spilled.
I’m looking for more—more than the "ride or the die,"
Looking for the "why" in the belly of a Washington sky.
I’m a cinematic engine, I’m a dark, rolling storm,
Breaking the mold and defying the "standard" and "norm."
I’m counting the clicks of the vintage quartz on my wrist,
A precision-grade life that the system accidentally missed.
​The Redline Requiem
​The needle is buried, the heat is a physical weight,
I’m a 4,000-pound bullet challenging the hands of my fate.
There’s a peace in the chaos, a stillness at the top of the gear,
Where the roar of the engine drowns out the static of fear.
I’m not running from something, I’m running into the flame,
Stripping the layers until there’s no more use for a name.
Just a driver, a machine, and a road with no end,
Around the next corner, down the long-running bend.
​I was looking for more, and I found it right here in the dash,
In the smell of the rubber and the white-hot, electrical flash.
Never should have let me out? Well, the door was left wide,
Now I’m 150 miles deep in a terrifying ride.
The story is long, and the ink is the grease on my hands,
Tracing the borders of these dark and beautiful lands.
​The sirens are a whisper, the road is a roar,
I’m the ghost of the concrete with my foot to the floor.
One hundred and fifty. The truth is a blur and a glow.
I’ve got a kingdom to build, and a lifetime to go.