Hypocrite

Look in the mirror

Who's that staring back?

The guy with the principles?

Or the guy with the prompt?

Let's be honest for once

I remember the dusty crates, the smell of the sleeve

The way a needle on a record made a young heart believe

Now I'm staring at a cursor, at a blinking white line

Asking a server to help me with a rhythm of mine

Am I a sell-out? A ghost in my own machine?

Operating in the grey areas, the spaces between

I criticize the "slop" while I'm using the tech

A heavy weight contradiction hanging 'round my neck

I'm a hypocrite in the studio, a glitch in the law

Trying to find the human spirit in a digital flaw

Call me a hypocrite, call me a liar

I'm just a man getting burned by the fire

Between the old world dying and the new one so cold

I'm the artifact left or am I part of the mold?

Yeah, I use the machine

Whose in control?

I'm a hypocrite

Wondering if I have soul

But let's talk about the Industry, the giants of the game

The ones who've been ruining the music way before the A.I. came

The suits who love the garbage, if the data says it sticks

Manipulating ears with the same cheap marketing tricks

They don't want the "Artifacts," they want the easy to sell

Polishing the turds until the music is a living empty hell

They crush the independent, they bury the profound

Then act surprised when there's no substance to be found

They scream about "ethics" while they underpay the stream

The biggest hypocrites of all, killing every artist's dream

I'm a hypocrite

Fine. At least I own the reflection

At least I'm aiming for a genuine, messy connection

I don't pretend the prompt is a pen I spent years to master

I don't pretend the code is a cure for every disaster

I know the difference between a producer and a ghost

Between the honored guest and the parasitic host

The industry is a morgue where the melodies go to die