Narrator:

The world’s a strange place now, son

Everyone’s running in circles, shouting opinions, posting their pains and sorrows and whatnot — calling it purpose

Nothing feels real no more

Folks chase success, calling it some short version of salvation

And end up emptier than when they started

Hey, used to be a man’s word meant something, young man

Now it’s filters, followers — false prophets selling lies

Don’t even get me going on it

But every once in a while, someone cuts through all that noise

Someone who don’t buy into the lie

Most folks don’t even notice it happening

But oh, it does

The world don’t fall apart all at once — it rots slow

Starts with little things… People forgetting how to look each other in the eye

Laughing at what used to mean something

You see it in their faces—

All that comfort, and none of it real

They got everything they ever wanted, and somehow it still ain’t enough

Here, they trade their peace for noise, their time for attention, and call it living

But every now and then, someone shows up who remembers what truth sounds like

Someone who don’t flinch when the world stops yapping

I once knew a young man who spoke the truth —

Not the kind they put in books, the kind that made people uncomfortable

He saw through it all: the greed, the noise, the endless chasing of nothing

They laughed at him for it — called him strange, aid his art was too wrong, too honest, too much

But he kept going

While the others were busy spending their father’s fortunes, drowning in champagne and fake validation, he was in the basement, building sounds from pain

Turning heartbreak into something immortal

And guess what happened to those boys?

Their businesses folded

Their names disappeared

All that shiny life turned to dust

But that kid?

He became the best at what he did

He made music that cut through time itself

Now, son… let me show you his very first studio work

This is Lost Tapes