(10 seconds of whistling over a melancholic synth melody, building with a slow 808 kick)

I grew up with scars, they call me a lost son, yeah
Streetlights flicker cold, my only home was one, yeah
They laughed at my dreams, said I'd never outrun, yeah
But I kept the blade close, felt the weight of a gun

Every back alley scream, every broken glass, yeah
They fed me lies, but I learned to blast, yeah
My fist through the wall, left a hole in the past, yeah
Now I walk through the fire, make the devil gasp, yeah

Under a bloodshot moon, I bleed for the fight, yeah
No one hears my cry, but I burn through the night, yeah
They call me a joke, but I carry the light, yeah
Under a bloodshot moon, I'm born from the bite, yeah

The blade in my hand, it whispers my name, yeah
I spit in the face of every false fame, yeah
The gangsters they fade, but I stay in the game, yeah
And the Bitch at my back, she feels no shame, yeah

Under a bloodshot moon, I bleed for the fight, yeah
No one hears my cry, but I burn through the night, yeah
They call me a joke, but I carry the light, yeah
Under a bloodshot moon, I'm born from the bite, yeah

(30 seconds of pure drum groove—trap-heavy, syncopated kicks, snare rolls, and a distant whistle, no bass or melody)

Under a bloodshot moon, I bleed for the fight, yeah
No one hears my cry, but I burn through the night, yeah
They call me a joke, but I carry the light, yeah
Under a bloodshot moon, I'm born from the bite, yeah

The Gun in my hand, cold steel and grace, yeah
I turn from the dark, leave no trace, yeah
The moon drips red, a tear on my face, yeah
But I walk alone, in this empty space, yeah

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