Rent Free

They don't need your vote, they need your pulse,

a spike, a scroll, a flinch, repeat.

Built a room that only opens

when you're angry at the door.

And the anger's real — that's the genius of it,

they don't manufacture it, they farm it.

Plant the seed at breakfast,

harvest you by lunch.

And you feel like a soldier all day

and you've moved exactly nothing —

It's living rent-free! (rent-free!)

Your rage, their real estate.

Screaming in a room with a meter on the wall —

somebody's getting paid! (getting paid!)

If it never leaves the glass

it was never yours at all.

Rent-free.

Two sides, one landlord, same rake,

they'll sell you the fence and the fire.

Every enemy they hand you

comes with the bill pre-written.

And the ones who own the anger

sleep like the innocent do —

they've never once believed

a single word they fed you.

So aim it, or evict it,

but stop paying rent to ghosts —

It's living rent-free! (rent-free!)

Your fear, their revenue.

Furious and stationary,

the most profitable shape there is. (there is!)

If it never moves your feet

it was never yours at all.

Rent-free.

I'm not above it. I'm in it.

I wrote most of this thing angry

at a screen, at two in the morning,

achieving nothing but this song.

So let the song do something.

That's the only rent I'll pay.

It's living rent-free! (rent-free!)

Mine too. Mine too.

So take it off the screen tonight —

a door, a hand, a room with people in it. (people in it!)

Anger that arrives somewhere

stops being someone's income.

Evict it. Move it. Now.