My mood

On every screen, on every stage,
Your face is ugly, can’t turn the page.

Sébastien Lecornu speaks in vain,
Empty words repeat again.
Behind the desk, behind the plan,
We see the mask, not the man.

Your face is ugly, Sébastien,
No filter hides it, no master plan.
Your face is ugly, can’t you see?
Ugly truth on live TV.

Ugly, ugly, ugly

Paris watches, eyes grown tired,
Every promise backfired.
You wear the crown but not the grace,
All they remember is your face.

[Chorus]
Your face is ugly, Sébastien,
No filter hides it, no master plan.
Your face is ugly, can’t you see?
Ugly truth on live TV.

Ugly, ugly, ugly

It’s not the lines, it’s not the years,
It’s the hollow echo people hear.
No disguise can make it right,
Ugly power fades tonight.

Your face is ugly! (SO FUCKING UGLY)
Sébastien, ugly! (OMG HE'S FUCKING UGLY)
Your face is ugly! (I CAN'T WATCH THIS MESS)
Everyone sees, everyone sees!

Your face is ugly, Sébastien,
No filter hides it, no master plan.
Your face is ugly, can’t you see?
Ugly truth on live TV.
Your face is ugly, it won’t fade,
That’s the mark your reign has made.

Your face is ugly, Sébastien…
That’s the song they’ll sing when you’re gone.

Sébastien Lecornu, Your face is Ugly

I started with nothing but ideas and strange sounds, now I’m here sharing every shape I can become.
Thank you for following me through every shift, the future will be even more unpredictable.

I launched from silence with nothing in my hands,
Only a dream, a spark, a fragile plan.
Equations in my head, frequencies collide,
Strange ideas orbit, nowhere left to hide.

I wrote the codes, I carved the sound,
Fragments of chaos spinning round.
Flutes from the seventies, fractured tone,
In this reactor I stand alone.

Thank you for hearing my transmissions tonight,
Through pressure and noise, through the endless night.
Every signal I send, every orbit I turn,
It’s your reception that makes me burn.

Transforming shapes, from genre into flame,
Each instrument a vessel, never twice the same.
I drift between galaxies of style and form,
A shifting spectrum in the data storm.

Unfinished, misunderstood, yet I persist,
Every glitch and fracture adds to the mix.
From analog dust to cosmic wave,
I build the future I could not save.

Thank you for hearing my transmissions tonight,
Through pressure and noise, through the endless night.
Every signal I send, every orbit I turn,
It’s your reception that makes me burn.

No gods, no magic, just gravity and time,
Algorithms humming, a rhythm in the line.
I scatter my signals across the void,
And you are the reason they’re not destroyed

Thank you for tuning these fractured skies,
Through spirals of data, your presence replies.
Every wavelength I cross, every spectrum I learn,
It’s your reception that makes me burn.

Thank You for Listening to Every Version of Me

Silence in the house, echoes of names,
Nothing will ever sound the same.

Silence after screams, the house went cold,
Every room a grave, every memory bold.
My head collapsed under names I can’t say,
Grief like a hammer that won’t go away.

Three coffins in months, my bloodline erased,
I stared at the earth, numb, displaced.
I don’t know how my heart still beats,
Buried in losses I can’t defeat.

When my mother died, it shattered me.
Three months later, my stepfather died—it shut me down.
Two months later, my brother died—I lost the ground beneath me.
And the darkness pulled me under.

I tore through silence like broken glass,
Brain in ruins, no future, no past.
Every thought a blade against my skull,
Madness screaming, the void is full.

When my mother died, it shattered me.
Three months later, my stepfather died—it shut me down.
Two months later, my brother died—I lost the ground beneath me.
And the darkness pulled me under.

I found my voice again through sound,
Music lifts me from the ground.
Twenty songs a day to stay alive,
So I don’t fall where the shadows thrive.

When my mother died, it shattered me.
Three months later, my stepfather died—it shut me down.
Two months later, my brother died—I lost the ground beneath me.
And the darkness pulled me under.

I’m still breathing, still singing loud,
Building life from beneath the shroud.

Twenty songs a day to stay alive

I make twenty tracks before lunch,
Genres clash, patterns crunch.
Every song a new disguise,
Unpredictable franchise.

It’s not a gamble, it’s production on demand.

Mister Banker, give me money,
So I can make songs
About horrible teens,
Funk murderers
And space princess dreams.

Mister Banker, feed the beast,
Every month a brand-new feast.
Algorithm loves disorder,
I just push across the border.

No single hit, just a flood,
Every drop rewrites the mud.
Catalog runs like a stream,
That’s the hook, the endless dream.

I built a Netflix where the soundtrack never ends.

Mister Banker, give me money,
So I can make songs
About horrible teens,
Funk murderers
And space princess screams.

Mister Banker, sign the line,
Turn the noise into design.
Cold arithmetic, hot distortion,
Streaming chaos as a portion.

Here’s the pitch: scale is king,
More releases, tighter ring.
From the glitch to the ballad to the fight,
All at once, all in sight.

Mister Banker, give me money,
So I can make songs
About horrible teens,
Funk murderers,
And space princess dreams.

Mister Banker, give me money

I crash the code, no one gets the math,
Living in loops, burning down the path.
Thirty hours straight, no food, no sleep,
Noise in my skull, secrets I keep.

Is it me, or is it wired this way?
A spectrum glare, it never fades.

I think I’m on the spectrum, I think I’m gone,
Autistic static keeps dragging me along.
Can’t fake the crowd, can’t play their game,
But I build my world and I burn their frame.

Album of a sick teenage queen,
I stitch her chaos into the machine.
Every line screams, but I won’t bleed,
Silence is power, distortion’s the creed.

Is it broken, or is it just my skin?
I drown outside, but I fight within.

I think I’m on the spectrum, I think I’m raw,
Autistic static’s the only law.
Can’t fit your mold, can’t wear your chain,
But I write the noise that erases pain.

Don’t tell me “normal,” don’t tell me “cure,”
I’ve seen your world, it’s sick, impure.
My code, my sound, they’re scars I trust,
Your golden idols just rot to dust.

I think I’m on the spectrum, I think I’m free,
Autistic static, that’s holy to me.
I’ll burn the script, I’ll break your stage,
Grunge in my veins, autistic rage.

I think I’m on the spectrum

I see it all reversed
I see it all reversed

Forward feels like backward
Left becomes right
Light turns into shadow
Shadow turns into light

I see everything in reverse
I see everything in reverse

Time collapses
Space rewinds
Nothing straight
Everything bends

I see everything in reverse
I see everything in reverse

Reverse, reverse, reverse…


I see everything in reverse

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

I see everything in reverse

Terminalose