From the album I Won't Listen - EP
This is a catalog of numbness pretending to be motivation. The verses inventory suffering with obsessive precision while the chorus chants self-help slogans that make everything worse. The real horror is not the violence being described but the cheerleader voice telling you to smile through it.
Another star locked up in a jar / Another sun shot down with a gun
These aren't metaphors for depression. They're concrete images of impossible violence. The speaker is collecting scenarios where light gets murdered, which tells you they've stopped expecting hope to survive contact with the world.
Congratulations - This life's a hit, this life's a shit / Sweet elevation - Enjoy the show, stop feeling low
The motivational language contradicts itself inside the same breath. Life is simultaneously a hit and shit, which means the problem isn't despair but the toxic positivity trying to flatten it. The speaker knows the pep talk is a lie while they're saying it.
Another face that makes me feel sick / Another word that cuts to the quick
The pattern shifts from cosmic violence to intimate wounds. Faces and words are what real people do to you, which means the catalog has moved from metaphorical suffering to recorded harm. The song is keeping score.
Another tear concealed by a fist / Another child that slashes its wrist
The concealed tear is the only moment where emotion gets hidden instead of displayed. Everything else in the song is visible violence, but crying still requires secrecy. That might be the song's actual thesis: we've normalized everything except vulnerability.
Just reach the top and never ever stop
The extra 'ever' is the only thing that changes across four identical choruses. The grind has to escalate. Stopping was never an option, but now the song won't even let you imagine it. The motivational speak has turned into a threat.
The speaker would be surprised to learn their exhaustive catalog of suffering proves they haven't forgotten anything. The whole song is evidence against its own chorus. What sticks is not any individual image but the relentless 'another,' which means this list never ends and the speaker knows it.