Sitting at the turntables,
The sound is the interchangeable,
The volume stirs,
The lyrics become blurry lines,
The channeling of the headphones and speakers,
It’ll be my last dose of the day and night.

The beat is still there,
The 808 rhythms,
My hips begin to move,
My arms begin to raise ,
Alone… I feel my personal rhythm vibrate.
With each and every gaze of the mirror I hate,
I begin to lose myself and encounter the serum of intimacy.

The 808’s come again,
Sucker punching my soul to match the tone,
Ough! My thoughts are deep beneath my bones,
Step by step I feel it coming,
The electrostatic symphony in my soul,
Surging through my breast,
A speaker wave travels through my fingertips.
This language becomes a buzz,
Sweat drips from my hair onto the crystal floor,
I swirl to the turntables and raise the volumes some more,
The 808’s are hitting me harder than then ever before.
I was always told I could kick it to the baseline,
With a body so aroused I feel the momentum making me numb,
Another step and I climaxed at the 808’s mixture,
Another round at the turntables and I hear the 808’s final whispers.