(Intro: Cold, industrial synth pulsing into a heavy, chugging guitar riff) (Verse 1: The Narrative Observer - Gritty, melodic vocals) I watch them pivot through the marble hall Two architects of a digital wall Mia’s sipping matcha, checking her stats While Tea is quoting mantras, sharp as a bat They’re not just living, they’re 'optimizing space' With a practiced smile on a high-res face The air between them is thick with the cost Of a thousand connections, but the human is lost. (Pre-Chorus: Mia and Tea - Airy, almost robotic, layered vocals) (Mia): "I’m setting boundaries, clearing the toxicity" (Tea): "It’s high-vibe energy, pure authenticity" (Mia): "He tried to gaslight, but I’m the CEO of my soul" (Tea): "Manifest the power, take back total control." (Chorus: Explosive Power Ballad Energy - High, soaring vocals) Oh, they’re the Queens of the Glass Ceiling Numb to the rhythm, numb to the feeling They’ve turned their scars into a luxury brand Building a kingdom on shifting sand It’s empowerment in a tailor-made suit But there’s a hollow sound at the root of the fruit Yeah, they’re breaking chains just to wear them in gold The most expensive story that was ever told. (Verse 2: The Narrative Observer - Heavier, more aggressive delivery) They talk 'emotional labor' like a debt to be paid Calculating every move in the shade 'Red flags' waving like a parade in the street They’ve weaponized the jargon, short and sweet Tea claims she’s 'healing' while she’s burning the bridge Mia’s 'leveling up' from the edge of the ridge But I see the flicker in the back of their eyes The panic of a bird that’s forgotten how to fly. (Bridge: Breakdown - Heavy Metal Riffs, Syncopated drums) (Narrator - Screamed or Aggressive Growl) Is it freedom if it’s scripted? Is it power if it’s sold? You’ve commodified your spirit Now your heart is growing cold! (Spoken - Cold and cynical) "Check your privilege... but make sure you tag the sponsor." (Guitar Solo: Melodic but frantic, blending shredding with a power ballad soul) (Chorus: Final grand repetition with massive backing choir) Oh, they’re the Queens of the Glass Ceiling Numb to the rhythm, numb to the feeling... (Outro: Fading industrial beat, narrator’s lonely voice) The brunch is over, the feed is clean Two lonely ghosts in a vibrant scene Safe in their bubble, perfectly phrased... Lost in the glare of the 'Male Gaze' they erased.
