Empty Noise

I’m observing the theater of the petty and the small,

The architects of outrage building a digital wall.

They’re engineering friction just to feel a spark of life,

Trading in their dignity for a moment of the strife.

But the world doesn't pause for the frantic or the loud,

It spins on its axis, indifferent to the crowd.

The rotation is eternal, the orbit is a law,

While they’re picking at the scabs and the microscopic flaw.

It’s a sad reality, a hollowed-out design,

When the poison in the water is mistaken for the wine.

They’re fishing for a reaction with a rusted, broken hook,

While the actual creators are the ones they overlooked.

I’m rising above the hate, above the static and the heat,

Walking with a steady pulse on a chaotic street.

The world spins with or without a single soul in place,

So I choose to fill the silence with a little bit of grace.

But for some it’s not about the love, it’s not about the "Why,"

Just a desperate need for attention under a digital sky.

They’re ruining the craft for the ones who truly care,

Turning holy ground into a circus and a snare.

You see the actual people, the ones who live the art,

Who put the structural integrity inside the human heart.

They’re being drowned out by the vultures and the trolls,

By the people playing characters and sacrificing souls.

They don’t care about the resonance, they don’t care about the beat,

They just want to see the friction and the artificial heat.

It’s a parasitic culture, a drain on the divine,

Crossing every boundary and every sacred line.

One part compassion. Two parts "Move On."

Waiting for the shadows of the petty to be gone.

If the world is gonna spin, then I’m gonna let it rotate,

Without the heavy anchor of the bitterness and hate.

I’m picking up my tools and I’m heading for the light,

Leaving all the agitators screaming in the night.

I’m rising above the hate, above the static and the heat,

Walking with a steady pulse on a chaotic street.

The world spins with or without a single soul in place,

So I choose to fill the silence with a little bit of grace.

But for some it’s not about the love, it’s not about the "Why,"

Just a desperate need for attention under a digital sky.

They’re ruining the craft for the ones who truly care,

Turning holy ground into a circus and a snare.

Let the world spin.

Let the light in.

The craft survives.

The truth lives.

The haters are just

Atmospheric

Noise.