Saturn’s Black Cube
⬇️⬇️⬇️Lyrics Below⬇️⬇️⬇️ #Robbin_BankxBlackCube [HOOK] This ain't the zodiac, this is a cold geometric creed A six-sided structure planted from a different breed of seed The Black Cube of Saturn is the landlord collecting deed You think you own your life, you're just a tenant in the need The rent is paid in spirit, in the hours that you bleed From the gutter to the penthouse, it's the same damn weed we feed A universal lockdown, a metaphysical greed Breathe the square, live the square, fulfill the square's decreed. [VERSE 1] The cosmos got a boss, a don they call the Ringed King The original shot-caller making all the systems sing I'm in the alley with the mystics, hearing what the ancients bring While you chase the latest drama, I'm learning how to clip the wing Of the Demiurge's puppet, cut the psychic string This ain't some paperback fantasy, this is the realest thing The logo on your laptop, the steeple where you cling The pattern in the pavement, the tune the sirens sing Your "choices" are a menu in a prison cafeteria You pick the flavor of your bondage, a temporary hysteria You think you built that empire? You leased the territory Your ambition is a ghost-drive in their mainframe memory. [VERSE 2] Let's translate for the trenches, for the ones stuck in the grind The screen you're glued to right now is a window they designed A perfect, polished surface to pacify your mind You think you're scrolling freely, you're just walking the assigned line And every tick, every tock, that's the warden's chosen sign A fabricated rhythm to keep your spirit in a bind Birth, school, work, death—a production so refined We march in neat formation, a psychologically confined Infantry of shadows, with a purpose so defined By the architecture of the limit, the master of the blind. [HOOK] This ain't the zodiac, this is a cold geometric creed A six-sided structure planted from a different breed of seed The Black Cube of Saturn is the landlord collecting deed You think you own your life, you're just a tenant in the need The rent is paid in spirit, in the hours that you bleed From the gutter to the penthouse, it's the same damn weed we feed A universal lockdown, a metaphysical greed Breathe the square, live the square, fulfill the square's decreed. [VERSE 3] The secret clubs and societies? They're just the trust-fund kids Playing dress-up in the basement, doing whatever their pyramid bids They think a handshake makes them masters of the grids They're just the privileged janitors, cleaning up the lids Of the real containment unit, where every thought is kept in quids The true power is the blueprint, the math behind the skids The angles and the corners where our little lives are hid Their rituals are recess for a overgrown ideas A pressure valve of pomp to keep the deeper truth in suds They're inmates with a nicer uniform, splashing in the mud. [VERSE 4] So what's the play, my brother? You master the enclosure You study every right angle, you learn to feel the pressure Not to break the walls themselves, but find your own composure To build a room within the room, a self-made exposure To light they can't extinguish, a personal disclosure The system gives the form, but you can choose the closure You polish your own corner with a relentless focus Until the very limits start to smell of your own locust Your grind becomes a meditation, your hustle turns to focus Not to escape the prison, but to own your little locus. [HOOK] This ain't the zodiac, this is a cold geometric creed A six-sided structure planted from a different breed of seed The Black Cube of Saturn is the landlord collecting deed You think you own your life, you're just a tenant in the need The rent is paid in spirit, in the hours that you bleed From the gutter to the penthouse, it's the same damn weed we feed. [OUTRO] So square your shoulders, soldier. Settle your account. Play their brutal board game 'til you own the damn mount. You won't crack the cube, player. You just learn the amount Of power you can carve out from the sacred discount. Now pour a drink for the warden, let the brown liquor amount To a perfect right angle, a respectful surmount. My mind's a six-panel comic. The joke's on the house. This world is his lockbox. And I've found my… ounce.
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⬇️⬇️⬇️Lyrics Below⬇️⬇️⬇️ #Robbin_BankxBlackCube [HOOK] This ain't the zodiac, this is a cold geometric creed A six-sided structure planted from a different breed of seed The Black Cube of Saturn is the landlord collecting deed You think you own your life, you're just a tenant in the need The rent is paid in spirit, in the hours that you bleed From the gutter to the penthouse, it's the same damn weed we feed A universal lockdown, a metaphysical greed Breathe the square, live the square, fulfill the square's decreed. [VERSE 1] The cosmos got a boss, a don they call the Ringed King The original shot-caller making all the systems sing I'm in the alley with the mystics, hearing what the ancients bring While you chase the latest drama, I'm learning how to clip the wing Of the Demiurge's puppet, cut the psychic string This ain't some paperback fantasy, this is the realest thing The logo on your laptop, the steeple where you cling The pattern in the pavement, the tune the sirens sing Your "choices" are a menu in a prison cafeteria You pick the flavor of your bondage, a temporary hysteria You think you built that empire? You leased the territory Your ambition is a ghost-drive in their mainframe memory. [VERSE 2] Let's translate for the trenches, for the ones stuck in the grind The screen you're glued to right now is a window they designed A perfect, polished surface to pacify your mind You think you're scrolling freely, you're just walking the assigned line And every tick, every tock, that's the warden's chosen sign A fabricated rhythm to keep your spirit in a bind Birth, school, work, death—a production so refined We march in neat formation, a psychologically confined Infantry of shadows, with a purpose so defined By the architecture of the limit, the master of the blind. [HOOK] This ain't the zodiac, this is a cold geometric creed A six-sided structure planted from a different breed of seed The Black Cube of Saturn is the landlord collecting deed You think you own your life, you're just a tenant in the need The rent is paid in spirit, in the hours that you bleed From the gutter to the penthouse, it's the same damn weed we feed A universal lockdown, a metaphysical greed Breathe the square, live the square, fulfill the square's decreed. [VERSE 3] The secret clubs and societies? They're just the trust-fund kids Playing dress-up in the basement, doing whatever their pyramid bids They think a handshake makes them masters of the grids They're just the privileged janitors, cleaning up the lids Of the real containment unit, where every thought is kept in quids The true power is the blueprint, the math behind the skids The angles and the corners where our little lives are hid Their rituals are recess for a overgrown ideas A pressure valve of pomp to keep the deeper truth in suds They're inmates with a nicer uniform, splashing in the mud. [VERSE 4] So what's the play, my brother? You master the enclosure You study every right angle, you learn to feel the pressure Not to break the walls themselves, but find your own composure To build a room within the room, a self-made exposure To light they can't extinguish, a personal disclosure The system gives the form, but you can choose the closure You polish your own corner with a relentless focus Until the very limits start to smell of your own locust Your grind becomes a meditation, your hustle turns to focus Not to escape the prison, but to own your little locus. [HOOK] This ain't the zodiac, this is a cold geometric creed A six-sided structure planted from a different breed of seed The Black Cube of Saturn is the landlord collecting deed You think you own your life, you're just a tenant in the need The rent is paid in spirit, in the hours that you bleed From the gutter to the penthouse, it's the same damn weed we feed. [OUTRO] So square your shoulders, soldier. Settle your account. Play their brutal board game 'til you own the damn mount. You won't crack the cube, player. You just learn the amount Of power you can carve out from the sacred discount. Now pour a drink for the warden, let the brown liquor amount To a perfect right angle, a respectful surmount. My mind's a six-panel comic. The joke's on the house. This world is his lockbox. And I've found my… ounce.