BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
The Clock Strikes Within
- //[0:35]
- I can’t tell if this room’s spinning or my mind’s cracked,
- Clock’s laughing loud, ticks slower than a heart attack.
- The clock strikes midnight one too many times,
- Then half past three—yeah, that’s my nightmare’s chimes.
- Trailer life, drug haze, no bedtime stories,
- Past echoes of violence in all their forms and glories.
- Not in that trailer now, but raised in its smoke and lies,
- Most of my childhood lost where the darkness never dies.
- I pace, I write, my brain’s a cage of mice,
- Trapped in overthinking, a toxic kind of ice.
- Hallucinations? Yeah, shadows talk back,
- Whisper my failures, remind me of every fucking crack.
- Am I losing it? Or just learning to survive?
- Feels like I’m living tomorrow trapped in yesterday alive.
- A year ago, I was someone else, not this ghost in my skin,
- I’m peeling layers off just to find where to begin.
- //[1:03]
- Smile’s on lock, laugh’s canned and rehearsed,
- I’m the calm before chaos, but it’s getting fucking worse.
- Talking to myself, but don’t recognize who the fuck’s there,
- A sarcastic bitch with eyes full of despair.
- “Hey, you good?” they ask, like I’m fine or I’m sane—
- Yeah, sure, I’m peachy while riding this braintrain.
- I flinch at silence like it’s loaded with lies,
- Watching the walls crawl and dance in disguise.
- Stepdad’s footsteps? More like a bullet to my chest,
- Mom’s wine glass is half full of apathy’s best.
- I’m writing in shadows where no one can hear,
- Spilling secrets on pages, my sanity’s veneer.
- I question my mind, am I fractured or cursed?
- Schizophrenia? Maybe. Or just trauma rehearsed.
- Either way, I’m the same kid they forgot to save,
- Now I’m just a shadow in my own mental grave.
- //[1:31]
- I see double—two faces staring back at me,
- One’s laughing, one’s crying, neither sets me free.
- Voices in halls, or just echoes in my head?
- I ask questions that keep me up in my bed:
- “Who the hell am I? Am I losing my grip?
- Is this all in my mind or a sinking ship?”
- Time’s slipping, flipping—minutes melt into hours,
- Like I’m drowning slow under invisible powers.
- I’m calm but shaking, steady but lost,
- Playing poker with ghosts, but I’m paying the cost.
- I joke with my demons, sarcastic and cold,
- Telling them, “Keep it coming, I’ve already been sold.”
- This isn’t a cry, it’s a cold, quiet fight—
- Writing in secret just to hold on tight.
- So if I disappear, or just fade away thin,
- Know it all started when the clock struck within—
- //[1:58]
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