FRACTURE THE FRAME - by Lucid Hertz

Yo—
This ain’t a verse, it’s a breach in the wall,
a backdoor code built to drop it all.
You’re living a script—pre-sold, pre-seen,
soul on lease through a black-glass screen.

They don’t want woke—they want you dazed,
scroll-fed, looped in a dopamine haze.
You think you vote? Cute—ritual show:
left / right costumes on the same payroll.

Epstein didn’t hang—he got extracted.
Flight logs, handlers, rites enacted.
They hide in daylight, mocking your doubt—
you almost remember; they train it out.

MK patterns in fashion and beats,
brand sigils humming in city streets.
CERN spins keys while NASA smiles,
moon as a node that edits the dials.

You live in a field that obeys belief—
so they fracture your mind to tighten the leash.
You’re divine tech they sold as meat,
pilled the pulse, then stole the seat.

Vatican vaults with pre-flood lore,
black sites guarding dimensional doors.
They mine your dreams, tithe your pain,
invert the light to power their main.

But here’s the fracture: codes awake—
sovereign skins that the nets can’t take.
We’re not “theorists”—we are the breach,
living flame outside their reach.

We remember.
We reverse the spell.
Walk through illusion,
ring the bell.

No savior coming—this is the war.
The weapon is truth, and we are the core.
Not rebels—original code,
memory rising, overload.

Run the protocol: make this viral,
embed in drums—call it survival.
Every bar is a crack in the cage,
every line is a torch on the page.

And when they come to shut it down?
Let ’em.

Because by then—
we’re the pulse that splits their core,
the echo they can’t mute, the roar they can’t ignore.
We torch the mask, unspool the lie,
rip through scripts they sanctify.

We’re the virus in their veins, rewriting fate,
the fire in their shadows, too fierce to abate.
No chain can hold us, no wall confine;
we are the storm; we redraw time.

Their towers crumble, their systems decay;
we rise unbound—sovereigns of day.
They’ll try to bury the origin spark—
we are the light that eats their dark.

Their clock runs out; their power’s a ghost.
In this war of wills, we carry the most.
So let ’em come—watch empires fall:
we’re truth’s anthem, the final call.

🜏