Love-Brain Firewall

Name: Love-Brain Firewall
Duration: 292 s
Description: Love-Brain Firewall by mBaileyz. From the artist’s lyric sheet: “Why am I begging on this tiny screen, For someone who can’t even spell my name clean?”

No artist release note is published for this song yet.

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Words from the artist’s archive

Love-Brain Firewall lyrics

Artist-supplied lyric sheet, matched by title. The sheet may differ from this released performance. Production notes and alternate promotional cuts are omitted.

Read the lyric sheet

Intro

Buzzing screen on the nightstand, 3 a.m. red on the clock. Takeout boxes on the counter, cold sauce starting to clot. City pressing through the window, sirens smear the fogged-up glass. I’m refreshing like a habit, watching all my deadlines pass.

Verse 1

I skipped the Monday meeting, told them “Wi-Fi died again.” Steam from instant noodles, plastic chopsticks in my hand. Your name pinned on my eyelids, every ping feels like a hit. Rent due on my laptop screen, but I just stare and babysit. Heart rate syncing with the ringtones, cheap blue light on my skin. You leave me seen, then vanish, like you’re bored of how I spin. I used to chase promotions, now I chase a typing dot. My future in the trash can with the instant coffee shots.

Pre-chorus 1

Why am I begging on this tiny screen, For someone who can’t even spell my name clean?

Chorus

Love-brain, shut it down, build a firewall now. Love-brain, shut it down, I’ve been sold by the pound. I won’t pay to hurt myself out loud. Shut it down, shut it down, shut it down right now.

Verse 2

I scroll into a circus, neon banners screaming “FIX YOUR HEART.” A thumbnail with a shouting face, five-star rage in every part. “Premium scold session, thirty minutes for your shame.” I tap to buy the beating, type your handle, drop your name. Ring light on a stranger’s face, they read my story like a joke. Comments flying, “Can’t be real,” while they reload and share the smoke. I’m paying just to watch them break the spell I built for you. My therapy’s a chat box and a limited-time queue.

Pre-chorus 2

Why am I renting out my broken spine, To strangers with a discount code for time?

Verse 3

They start the stream with sirens, desk knocks in a metered slam. My chat name pinned like evidence, replayed on every cam. They call me out for begging, list my failures row by row. Thousands laughing in the sidebar, little hearts that sting and glow. My inbox like a courtroom, every sticker is a stone. I paid them just to scream the things I should have carved in bone. From “pathetic” to “obsessed,” they drag my patterns through the mud. It hits me that my boundaries now are just another monthly sub.

Bridge

Why did I need a stranger to say “you’re worth more than this”? Why did I trade my backbone for a screenshot and a kiss? Silence when I mute the tab, the room is finally mine. The cruelest part is knowing I outsourced my own spine.

Verse 4

Unread emails in the corner, job leads turning into dust. Calendar like grave markers for the days I broke my trust. My mirror shows a tenant in a body overdrawn. I built my life on quick replies and left the power off at dawn. I’m drafting brand new rulesets on a sticky note and skin. No influencer subscription for the voice inside again. My time is not a tipping jar, my worth is not a stream. My heart is not a paywall for somebody else’s dream.

Verse 5

I close the tab, the sirens fade, the comments lose their teeth. I scroll to your last message, feel the anger underneath. One final buzz, I let it ring, then swipe you into black. I block your name, block my old self, and never take it back. I breathe in boiled tap water like it’s champagne in my lungs. This tiny room feels massive now that I’m not chasing crumbs. I change your name to “Do Not Open” just to twist the knife. Then delete the whole existence, reclaim bandwidth, reclaim life.

Outro

No more rented heartbreak, no more streaming every scar. If I have to pay for courage, I’ll spend it learning who we are. Phone face down on the table, city rattling the walls. When the buzzing cuts to nothing, that’s my favorite missed call.

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Inside the recording

96 sampled loudness windows · 292 seconds. The white line follows the player; this is a local recording matched by title and duration, not a verified YouTube audio fingerprint.

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01 / The opening