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letra de message not delivered - headhaunter

(remember way back when? when we were good and everything was fine?)

when we’d message everyday, you know, to truly connect
but i used to duck for cover when you’d shoot me a text
you’d choose a name, safety off, it didn’t matter who it said
gunpowder residue left on your finger after you hit send

on a secure line you madly tapped on all the keys
i was your primary target, you caps locked onto mе
heat seeking, but couldn’t bear to take somе damage
send a missile back and you’d deploy a flair for the dramatic
then you’d leave me on read, appearing online with green dots
played with friendly fire, hitting allies with screenshots
declassified sweet talk, they saw what we said
they wouldn’t let it slide, i had to army crawl in dm’s

i pulled the pin i always open my phone with
to see you lobbed something my way and hoped it exploded
just know that type of shrapnel was a hull destroying hit
and the messenger was riddled with a bullet pointed list

before it all collapsed, who knew a wall of text from you could hurt?
knew the sentence long before i saw the executioner
i got the block, while that angry mob of desperate nerds
couldn’t wait to see that news/noose, hanging on your every word

…huh, it formed a powerful stillness
i tried to connect the dots before the bouncing ellipsis
had eclipsed this feeling with a different one to show me
the message you had sent was just a finger gun emoji

(although i never sent a text back… i felt phantom vibrations on my thigh, anxious to see your name pop up on that screen)

a haunting ringtone melody that’s full of wrong notes
plays on your ghosting ship, complete with skulls and crossbones
not just me who can hear all those mutineer’s lost souls
groan as you unlock your phone with a nuclear launch code
felt like there were sk!lled marksmen telling me to write a sentence
you were like a drill sergeant yelling at a private message
it left tenants sh-ll shocked as your lightning bolts flanked
with a major upset as you tried to pull rank

you’d treat your cellphone like a ouija board
to scream at friends so dead to you, they’re ghosts that you’ve seen before
in treaties of war, you’d insist on the worst deals
it’s not a contacts app, it’s a list of confirmed k!lls

it’s a mushroom cloud that followed every message you sent with
a violent shockwave that buried several friendships you’ve ended
i’m in the wrong grave, and there’s a fresh h-ll waiting
wading in a sea of “read” receipts and spent sh-ll casings

i debated retaliating with a blitz i’d send you later
but i bypassed the timer and i cl!cked the detonator
i was expecting a response, so i never crossed a finger
and i got three words: “message not delivered”

- headhaunter

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