Book of Boris — Chapter XLIV: Broadcast of the Unbothered
Verse 1: They hiss through static. I speak through signal. Their noise dies in distortion— mine lives in rhythm.
Verse 2: I don’t match moods. I modulate. Let them stay frumpy and fold; I’ll keep glowing neon and loud.
Verse 3: You can’t jam what was built to broadcast. So I stay tuned to my own frequency— and let paper cranes drown in their own water.