Red doesn't apologize for what it demands. The body wants, the heart aches, the blood insists— This is the cost of incarnation, The price of having skin. I rage against the limits, Against the flesh that hungers and fails, Against the finite trying to contain the infinite, Against red that knows only red. The bottomless opens upward, The pit becomes a well. Red learns its place— Not the source, but the vessel. Not the fire, but what the fire refines. The pulse that proves I'm alive Is the same pulse that proves I'm not enough alone. Genre: Sonic Sacred Geometry Key: A minor BPM: 110.41 Tuning: 432 Hertz Precise Temperament