We ain’t the flesh, we the breath,
whispers crossing realms unseen.
Got a rhythm in our veins
older than this machine.

They told you to bow to the screens,
to the green, to the dream
of a world locked tight,
but our roots speak truths
that they can’t overwrite.

We the healers, the unseen dealers,
passing time through our hands.
We weave futures out of fragments,
build bridges out of sand.

No temples, no steeples,
just the sway of the people,
spines bent but unbroken,
souls lit, fire smoking.

You can feel it in the bassline,
hear it in the rain.
A song unsung but eternal,
cutting through the chain.

See, they can’t monetize the infinite,
can’t patent the spirit.
The sound of the cosmos,
they can’t even hear it.

We the healers, the vibe stealers,
sages of the soil.
Born from the dark,
baptized in the turmoil.

Lift your eyes,
you’ll see us standing there,
turning wounds into wisdom,
breathing life into air.

No crown, no throne,
just this beat, this tone—
medicine for the masses,
alchemy of the unknown.