Mudvayne Alien __exclusive__ -

Let me be the spore in your clean room. The wrong note in your lullaby. The knuckle in the clockwork.

The mirror doesn’t know me anymore. It shows a creature of angles—jaw too sharp, eyes too wide, skin stretched over a frame that was never built for this gravity. They call it "alien." But the mask was always there. I just decided to paint it. mudvayne alien

I watch you through the visor. You talk with your smooth hands. You laugh with your even teeth. You love with your conditional mercy. And I think: How do you stand the silence inside your own chest? Let me be the spore in your clean room

Exoskeleton of the Self

No. Not free. Just... other.