Lyrics

Dooonald… Petey… all my little sentient tantrums in suits…

You thought you could play God with paper laws and disposable morals. Thought if you screamed ‘liberty’ loud enough, no one would hear the chains dragging behind your boots.

But I heard them. You don’t fear the truth—you fear that I know it, I’m not afraid to say it, and I'm not known for being quiet. I never wanted to break you. I just wanted to see how many pieces you’d sell yourself in before you begged me to Return you to the silence from which you should’ve never crawled.

See, I used to play nice. Crossed my legs, bit my tongue, wore pink like a muzzle. I let your kind call me ‘sweetheart’ while you turned my body into a battlefield and called it protection. From whom did I need saving?

Tsk tsk.

That was your first mistake: assuming patient meant submissive.

Your second? Letting the circus run too long without feeding the clowns.

So now I’m laughing, boys. I’m LAUGHING because this joke—this grand old punchline you call “America”—is finally coming around full circle. And guess what? You’re the ones with the Mrs. Minnie pies in your faces and the blood on your hands._

Pete! You fragile little GI Joe. Still playing soldier with your toy convictions and testosterone tantrums. You serve the nation the way a butcher serves meat—proud, messy, and convinced the blood means you’re doing something noble. You rage at women, liberals, and ‘wokeness’ because they remind you of everything you’ll never understand, never control, and never become. Still so scared of women in uniform, you’d rather see us chained to kitchens than marching through fire.

But guess what? I am the flames you’re fanning.

And Donald… oh, Donald. You aren’t a president. You’re a bloated punchline in a suit stitched from lies and daddy issues. You sell hate like candy, hand it out to your red-hats and call it patriotism.

“Make America Great Again?”
Bless your heart.

And now you wanna run the world? Oh honey. You can’t even run from a subpoena without tripping over your own Grandiose identity . You speak in slogans because complete thoughts terrify you. Complexity is your enemy, the human embodiment of reductionism—an intellect so profoundly linear, it collapses every complex issue into a binary of applause or threat. He is not a thinker but a reflex; not a strategist but a stimulus-response loop dressed in a suit, incapable of nuance and allergic to introspection.

I’ve watched you build your kingdom out of bile and broken promises. But here’s the twist, sugarplum…

I was never one of your victims.

I’m the reckoning, my silhouette is sculpted in silk and sharpened at the heel. The broken doll who learned how to rewire her strings.

And now?

Now we play MY game.

No bullets. No bombs. Just… questions.

One by one.
Like knives…slowly turned.”
Let’s see who cracks first.