Shinobi_Bellator – Dead Man Walking (Midtempo Apocalyptic Trapwave Gospel)

Yeah… storm’s crawlin’ in sideways,
voltage skippin’ across the sky like Heaven’s circuitry glitchin’ in real time.
Dead man walkin’, dead man watchin’,
dead man tuned to the hum of a universe speakin’ through broken metal.
I been down roads where asphalt curled like burnt skin,
through nights so cold my breath snapped into shards.
But I keep marchin’.
Some men run from judgment —
and some men walk straight into it with their eyes open.

I’m out here in the wasteland with my boots chewin’ gravel,
breath foggin’ like a steel train draggin’ its last prayer.
My heartbeats hit like a malfunctionin’ drum engine —
mechanical, hostile, industrial thunder.
Every step = a factory detonatin’ in slow motion,
and the memories behind me trail like smoke signals from sins I survived.

Voices from the past rise up —
people I buried, people I failed,
people I loved so hard they carved cavities through my ribs.
They whisper in harmonic glitches,
bitcrushed like a choir trapped in a dying hard drive:
“You ain’t done.”
“You ain’t clean.”
“You ain’t free.”
I don’t flinch.
I stare those ghosts in the teeth and say:
walk with me or stand out the way.

Dead men don’t fold.
Dead men don’t flee.
I’m the glitch with a razor in his jaw,
breathin’ in entropy like incense,
exhalin’ fire through circuit boards.

Night wind cuts sharp like a boxcutter.
My pulse kicks jagged like a rogue shutter.
Dead man draggin’ thunder through the static —
livin’ proof the grave ain’t automatic.

I’m a dead man walkin’, marchin’ through the wreckage,
haunted by the echoes of the sins I never reckoned.
Every bone in my body been carved into a weapon,
swingin’ through the darkness like a midnight lesson.
Heaven on my left, hell on my right —
but I ain’t stoppin’ till I make this right.
Dead man walkin’, dead man talkin’,
and every step I take is a war worth wagin’.

Ain’t no mercy out here —
just wind, metal, and the truth.
My past chases me like a bloodhound with carbon-fiber teeth.
But I move like liquid violence, cracklin’ through the dark,
sheddin’ old versions of myself like burnt bark fallin’ off a wildfire tree.

I walk through fields of regret with my chin up,
through alleys of sorrow with my fists up,
through deserts of emptiness with my soul lit up.
A paradox in boots —
broken but unbreakable,
scarred but unshakeable,
wounded but unmistakable.

People say I shoulda died long ago.
Maybe I did.
Maybe the man I used to be bled out in a ditch,
and the creature that crawled out became the curse, the blessing,
the punishment, the miracle.

All I know?
I keep walkin’.
I keep swingin’.
I keep breathin’ even when breath tastes like steel.

Static buzzin’ like a swarm around my skull,
moon hangin’ low like it knows I’m full
of fire, regret, and gasoline dreams —
dead man marchin’ through digital seams.

I’m a dead man walkin’, marchin’ through the wreckage,
haunted by the echoes of the sins I never reckoned.
Every bone in my body been carved into a weapon,
swingin’ through the darkness like a midnight lesson.
Heaven on my left, hell on my right —
but I ain’t stoppin’ till I make this right.
Dead man walkin’, dead man talkin’,
and every step I take is a war worth wagin’.

I prayed for peace once —
now I pray for purpose.
If pain is the teacher, then I’m the honor student.
Fire scorched my heart and etched molten scripture in my veins.
Every failure = voltage.
Every heartbreak = armor.
Every loss = ammunition.

Lightning crawls across the sky like a wounded wolf,
and I walk beneath it unshaken —
a silhouette sculpted by survival.

Yeah… dead man strides through dirt,
bootprints glowin’ faint like embers.
I ain’t runnin’ from fate —
I’m runnin’ into it,
arms wide like a man who already lost everything
and refuses to lose twice.

I’m rebuildin’ myself from bone dust and broken code,
patchin’ my soul with barbed wire and blessings,
swearin’ on every scar:
I ain’t fallin’ without swingin’.
I ain’t dyin’ without winnin’.
Dead man walkin’ —
but built like resurrection.

World trembles.
Shadows listen.
Wind carries my name on a cracked transmission.
I ain’t holy.
I ain’t damned.
I ain’t done.

Dead man walkin’.
Dead man walkin’.
Dead man still walkin’.

Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi
Shinobi_Bellator

Yeah… boots hit dust, heartbeat hits static,
and the whole world hums like a dying transformer leaking prophecy.
I ain’t runnin’ from ghosts —
I am the ghost.
Deadman talkin’, deadman walkin’,
deadman stalkin’ every broken version of me
still wanderin’ the ruins I left behind.
Sky cracked open like a busted CRT,
static snow fallin’ slow across my shoulders.
I ain’t afraid.
I’ve been dead before.
I remember the taste.

I drag my shadow down a desert highway,
neon leaking down the horizon like a wounded angel.
Every mile marker’s a gravestone —
memories nailed in place, rusted through with regrets.
But I keep movin’, jaw locked, fists scarred,
breath hittin’ like a piston misfire in a machine built to outlast judgment.
I’m not outrunnin’ demons —
I’m outrunnin’ the man I used to be
tryin’ to claw his way back into my bones.

They said I’d fold, said I’d drown in my own storms.
But here I am —
still swingin’,
still snappin’ through barbed-wire futures.
I spit blood and scripture in the same breath.
Walk through fire like it’s a hallway.
I already died once.
Everything after that is borrowed time —
and I spend it like a weapon.

Heartbeat rattlin’ like shrapnel on a tin roof.
Spine wired like a lightning rod pullin’ down truth.
Pain ain’t punishment — pain is proof.
Deadman walkin’ —
but the dead man’s loose.

Yeah, I’m a dead man walkin’ through the ruins I made,
diggin’ up bones of the choices I betrayed.
Every scar is a map, every bruise is a blade
cutting loose the weakness that kept me afraid.
I’m stuck between Heaven and a war I can’t quit,
standin’ in the ashes of the life I wrecked with my fists.
From the cradle to the grave, from the fall to the dawn —
I’m a dead man walkin’, but I’m still walkin’ on.

Whispers rise from trees, wires, concrete —
echoes of what I tried to bury.
“You should’ve died.”
“You should’ve stayed down.”
“You should’ve crawled.”
But I ain’t built for kneelin’.
I’m built like an engine that never learned how to quit,
even when the oil burns black
and the pistons scream.

I’m a renegade soldier in a civil war against myself —
battlin' mirror phantoms that lied to my face,
shadows that wore my old skin like costumes.
I ain’t scared of death —
I shook his hand
and kept his coat.

Every time they said I was too far gone,
too broken to rise —
I rose harder.
Teeth grit.
Soul lit.
Dead but undefeated.
That’s the curse and the crown
of a man who refuses to vanish.

Cold wind howls, but it don’t move me.
Darkness hunts, but it can’t consume me.
Deadman walkin’ with a furnace in his chest —
Yahweh ain’t done with me yet, so I don’t rest.

Yeah, I’m a dead man walkin’ through the ruins I made,
diggin’ up bones of the choices I betrayed.
Every scar is a map, every bruise is a blade
cutting loose the weakness that kept me afraid.
I’m stuck between Heaven and a war I can’t quit,
standin’ in the ashes of the life I wrecked with my fists.
From the cradle to the grave, from the fall to the dawn —
I’m a dead man walkin’, but I’m still walkin’ on.

Every time I stumble, the earth remembers.
Every time I bleed, the soil learns my name.
I ain’t afraid of judgment — I passed it on myself.
I ain’t afraid of hell — I lived there.
What I fear is numbness.
What I fear is silence.
What I fear is wakin’ up without fire.
But long as my pulse kicks in my throat,
I’ll keep marchin’ forward
like a man made of smoke
and unfinished business.

Yeah… deadman don’t beg.
Deadman don’t plead.
Deadman don’t bow to no throne or creed.
I walk with Yahweh’s thunder braided in my bones,
every mistake I made turned into stones
paving the road beneath my boots.

This ain’t redemption —
it’s retribution dressed for war.
Every step is a verdict.
Every breath is a vow.
Every demon that chased me
can’t even touch me now.

I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness —
ain’t earned that yet.
I’m out here fightin’ for the man
I ain’t met —
the future warrior stitched from grit and wrath
callin’ from the end of the path.

So I keep walkin’.
Keep risin’.
Keep defyin’ fate.
Deadman walkin’ —
but wide awake.

Yeah… time slips, sins stick, scars speak.
But I ain’t done.
I ain’t weak.
Death tried to claim me —
but I kept walkin’.

Deadman walkin’.
Deadman walkin’.
Deadman still walkin’.

Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi
Shinobi_Bellator

Yeah… night hits different when you’re halfway dead and halfway divine.
Streetlights twitch like anxious angels, tryin’ to Morse-code a warning I ain’t interested in readin’.
I don’t follow signs anymore —
I make them burn in the dark.

Deadman walkin’ through a world welded out of rust, betrayal,
and the echoes of choices that still bite like steel teeth.
Concrete vibrates under my boots like it knows my history,
like it remembers the storms I survived
and respects the storm I am.

I breathe the cold and it tastes like metal shavings,
like old gun barrels and apologies nobody said out loud.
My exhale crackles like radio static —
a broken transmission carryin’ the last sermon
of a man too stubborn to kneel,
too furious to repent,
too haunted to quit.

I pass windows flashin’ reflections
of a stranger I’ve become:
eyes hollow but blazing,
soul shredded but thunderous,
a silhouette stitched with rage, faith, and nuclear grief
strong enough to power a dead city.

Inside my skull, a drum machine limps like a wounded animal,
kicks hittin’ like rib-crack shots,
snares clappin’ like the devil himself snappin’ time.
My mind’s a scrapyard of lightning,
my pulse a tripwire,
my breath a countdown.

I walk like a glitch in the simulation,
a corrupted file the universe tried to delete
but couldn’t overwrite.
I’m the error message that bites back.

If the world wants you gone,
you walk louder.

If the world wants you quiet,
you scream flames.

If the world wants you dead,
you die on your feet
and resurrect swingin’.

Sky feels too small for my ghosts tonight —
too many names, too many faces buried in my heartbeat.
But the wires under my skin start to hum,
and something ancient, feral, steel-boned
rises in my chest and whispers:

keep going, motherfucker.

So I move.
Through static.
Through memory.
Through the darkness that thinks it owns me.

Deadman walkin’.
Storm buildin’.
No turnin’ back.

Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi
Shinobi_Bellator

I step into an alley shaped like a scar,
the walls sweating neon wounds,
air thick with diesel fumes and discarded futures.

This is where the world dumps the souls it can’t recycle.
And here I stand—
royalty among ruins,
crowned in pain,
anointed in fallout.

A busted neon cross buzzes above me,
half-burnt, half-alive,
exactly like the prayers I used to stab into the sky
before the war inside me went thermonuclear.

Deadman creed:
If the light dies,
be the fuse.

My heartbeat locks onto the industrial pulse around me—
machinery groaning beneath the concrete veins,
pipes rattling like skeletons in a metal drum circle,
sirens howling their broken gospel
to a moon that don’t answer anymore.

I used to think survival was strength.
Now I know the truth:
strength will get you killed.
What saves you is disciplined madness,
rage with coordinates,
faith wielded like a blade honed on bone.

I shove open a rusted steel door
and it screams against its hinges—
a scream so familiar
it might as well be my own.

Inside waits the House of Broken Metal and Old Gods—
a temple for the faithless,
a refuge for men who left their shadows as sacrifices,
where walls absorb every confession, curse,
and earthquake breath
ever fired at the ceiling by the desperate.

I step into the center.
Floor cold as morgue steel.
Air heavy as judgment.
Silence hitting harder than any caliber I ever tasted.

So I speak to the dark like it’s kin.

“Yeah… it’s me again.
Your dead man.
But not dead enough.
Not tonight.”

My voice bounces back mangled,
sampled by the room,
looped through static,
as if it’s trying to decide
whether I’m man,
myth,
or the last electrical impulse
from a soul God forgot to unplug.

Then I hear it—
a low hum rising beneath everything,
deep, mechanical,
a heartbeat built from gears and grief.

It’s the city.
Calling me.
Daring me.
Daring me to rise,
to break,
to step into the storm it knows is waking.

And I smile—
cracked, painful, holy.
A resurrection grin.

I whisper:

“Yeah… deadman walkin’.
But deadman ain’t done.”

The walls quiver.
The floor shifts.
The air tightens.

The chapter closes.

The war continues.

Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi Shinobi
Shinobi_Bellator