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

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 think I’m on the spectrum

Terminalose