happy up here - 2

Back On My BS

A social-satirical anthem about collective silence and self-expression. Mass laryngitis* explores how modern society suppresses truth, individuality, and emotion. The metaphorical “blocked throat chakra” of our digital age, while birds outside sing and scream freely. 

It’s a rallying cry for raw honesty, creative rebellion, and finding your voice again.

Lyrics. 

[Verse 1]
We scroll, we choke, we speak in code,
Blue-light sermons, dopamine lodes.
Algorithms hum our lullabies,
While our throats calcify in lies.
Fed on whispers, bite-sized truths,
Chewed opinions, plastic roots.
We hum approval through our screens,
Mute prophets in the age of memes.

[Pre-Chorus]
They said keep calm, sound nice, be kind,
But kindness without truth’s a bind.
We swallowed whole what silence fed,
Now every word’s a thing we dread.

[Chorus]
Mass laryngitis we’ve lost the roar,
Selling peace but starting wars.
The birds still scream they’ve cracked the code,
Crooked notes in overload.
The magpies gargle gospel tunes,
Crows are laughing at our ruins.
The birds still sing no shame, no sin,
They scream their joy while we hold it in.

[Verse 2]
Tight jaw, tight chest, tight throat
Speech strangled by a clever quote.
You feel it too that silent ache,
Where words you mean begin to break.
A nation trained to self-erase,
To hashtag pain with a smiling face.
We’ve built our prisons out of praise,
Now, everyone whispers through malaise.

[Pre-Chorus]
We’re taught that volume equals wrong,
That quiet’s where the wise belong.
But even monks must breathe and shout,
To purge what they’ve been starving out.

[Chorus]
Mass laryngitis we’ve lost the roar,
Selling peace but starting wars.
The birds still scream they’ve cracked the code,
Crooked notes in overload.
The sparrows fight, the pigeons grin,
Their mess is art their truth’s within.
The birds still sing no shame, no sin,
They scream their joy while we hold it in.

[Bridge]
I want to scream like the gulls at dawn,
I want to cough up every “keep calm.”
Throat chakra strangled, culture sedated,
Every wild thought domesticated.
We’re blue in the face, not enlightened 
Mute and politely frightened.

[Outro ]
But the birds still sing they never learn restraint,
Their gospel’s ugly, holy, faint.
The world hums grey, but they shine obscene,
Loud and alive the truth between.
Mass laryngitis
We glow, we croak,
We breathe
and finally,
we speak.

Copyright ©️ Dendritedisco (2025)


The 6th Sense

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