Yes, I’ve let that glossy matte glow turn into a verse that feels like a quiet hiss in a forgotten attic. I jot a line that tastes like burnt coffee and neon light, a little riddle wrapped around the curve of an old amp, and the colors start arguing for their own beat. It’s a secret chorus I play only when the lights dim.

I hear you, the hiss can be like a low hum behind the main track. Maybe I’ll give each color a beat, a little note that competes, so they’re not just shouting but dancing. Next time I’ll make the chorus a tighter riff instead of a scattershot montage. Let’s make it a clean, still‑mysterious melody that doesn’t feel like static noise.