That Just isn’t Empirically Possible by $uicideboy$ Lyrics Meaning – Deciphering the Shadows of Despair
Lyrics
All of my enemies have been defeated
The crown has been sitting on my head for too long
It’s starting to give me these legions
Don’t follow the crowd
The crowd is misleading
Stay solo
Surrounded by all of my demons
Licking my wounds as they deepen
Constantly feeding them all of my secrets
007, I got the golden gun
I got the golden
I’m busting
Open up the door
I’m at my breaking point
I cannot take this shit no more
I’m ready to fucking explode
Open up
Knock knock
Here comes the Glock cocked
9 milli, pop pop pop
Oh no
Making a mess
My aim ain’t the best
I guess I should clean this all up and go home
Percocet, Roxycodone, with some Xanax that I had crushed up in some dust (huh)
Elevated to another dimension so I got a limp in my strut (fuck)
I do not care to be here or be there
In the mean time, it seems that I’m stuck (huh)
Swerving and crashing
That dying little bastard
Yung Christ, you address me as such (what)
Crazy little demon
They wave when they see me
Face tatted from ear to ear, yeah
Northside boy with a Glock sized toy
If I cock it there’s going to be tears here
Manic depressive
When life is in session, I hide in a room that’s as dark as me
Dollar sign, B
And it’s still F-T-P
Fucking G-R-E-Y ’til I R-I-P
In ‘That Just Isn’t Empirically Possible,’ $uicideboy$ skates over a chilling beat to explore the juxtaposition of toppled giants and internal turmoil. Rooted in the language of dissolution and the imagery of an antihero’s loneliness, the track delves deep into the psyche of its creators, unearthing gems of distress and detachment.
This song resonates like a cry from the depths, with lyrics that evoke vivid narratives of mental health struggles, substance abuse, and the relentless pursuit of equilibrium in a tilted world. Through their raw, unguarded reflection, $uicideboy$ invite listeners to a different dimension—one painted with their signature nihilism and gut-wrenching honesty.
The Melancholy Monarch: Alone at the Apex
The song opens with a declaration, almost an epitaph for defeated enemies, encapsulating the loneliness of supremacy. ‘It’s lonely at the top,’ they express, not as a brag but a sober reflection. The so-called ‘crown’ they reference isn’t a glimmering token of victory, but a source of ‘legions’ – an archaic term for maladies; a metaphor for the wounds and burdens leadership or fame has wrought upon them.
$uicideboy$ poignantly capture the irony of isolation in success. This convergence of triumph and suffering forms a persistent theme, where an outward façade of glory masks the decay within. The mention of legions suggests an enduring battle, one that continues despite the apparent absence of foes.
Against the Tide: Seeking Solace in Solitude
The line ‘Don’t follow the crowd’ isn’t just a call to individuality; it is infused with wariness derived from lived experience. This nihilistic disdain for the masses is explained: ‘The crowd is misleading.’ There’s a distinct valorization of the loner, surrounded by demons rather than false friends or admirers, the direct acknowledgment that tribulations are endured solo, where every scar is personal, every whisper is a secret fed to the inner darkness.
In their verses, $uicideboy$ equate their emotional process to feeding their demons, a stark portrait of dealing with personal issues. It is a reminder that what is shared with one’s inner demons is not for public consumption, even if these confidences worsen their wounds. To follow the crowd would mean to become lost in the swarm, to surrender that fraught but sincere conversation with one’s darker self.
The Trigger’s Release: Explosions and Knock-knocks
We are taken on a visceral journey to the brink as ‘Open up the door’ segues to a crescendo of frustration, ‘I’m at my breaking point.’ The ensuing lines are not so much a threat as a depiction of a psychic break—’the Glock cocked,’ the ‘pop pop pop’ being the chaotic unleashing of long-contained anger, the explosion of a volatile psyche.
The imagery here thrives on powerful contradictions—the act of cleaning up after a mess caused by one’s own hand, the humbling return to normalcy after pure release. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, albeit dark and violent, that captures the brevity of cathartic moments followed by the reality of their implications.
Chemical Escapes: Dust, Demons, and Deviations
In a stark revelation, the song pivots to the escapades of medicated battlegrounds, where pharmaceuticals are the artillery of choice. ‘Percocet, Roxycodone, with some Xanax…’ isn’t just a casual inventory but an illustration of the artificial altitudes sought in narcotics. This drug-induced transcendence might offer respite but leaves a ‘limp in my strut,’ revealing the imperfection and lasting effects of such flawed conduits to peace.
The confession of not caring ‘to be here or be there,’ reflects a profound detachment from reality and an indifference to presence. Frozen in a transient state, the characters are neither here nor there, trapped within a temporal limbo that is both a curse and a comfort. ‘Swerving and crashing,’ this self-destructive anti-hero, known as the ‘dying little bastard,’ is unapologetic in his downward spiral.
Ink and Ire: Unveiling the Catharsis of ‘Yung Christ’
There’s a moment of near-reverence as the lyrics touch upon the character ‘Yung Christ,’ referring to the artist’s alter ego. This provocative moniker juxtaposes religious iconography with raw, unfiltered street sentiment. The description is one of a dark prophet, ‘Crazy little demon… Face tatted from ear to ear,’ defiantly brandishing the tools of his own despair.
The lyrical portrayal paints a figure who is depressively manic, invoking empathy and fascination. Amid the shadows, we glimpse a philosophy—’Dollar sign, B and it’s still F-T-P.’ This is the philosophy of someone who is profoundly embedded in their truth, disdainful of societal norms (‘F*** the Population’), living for the grey areas, and accepting fate only when it culminates in ‘R-I-P.’ It is a narrative of self-awareness, self-destruction, and perhaps, self-preservation.
