Zaya Wolf - Break the Needle (Industrial Dark-Pop Closer / Golden Gasoline)

The album’s cathartic blow-off: a high-octane dark-pop closer that kicks doors, then flips to a double-time drum rush in the last chorus. Serrated synths, octave-jumping sub, clap stacks, and gang responses turn defiance into afterburner. Short fry-scream tags seal the win.

Listen to the full album and stream:
➡️ Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/intl-de/arti...
➡️ Apple Music:   / zaya-wolf  
➡️ Zaya Wolf Discography:    • Zaya Wolf Discography  

Lyrics:

Night in gear; lungs on flame—
I don’t ask the road for blame.

Cheap praise feels like counterfeit,
smiles that tell me “make it fit.”
Tried to idle, choked on dust—
truth won’t breathe in borrowed rust.
Streetlight veins under my skin,
every “stop” just feeds the spin.
If your limit guards the door,
watch me turn it into floor.

Quiet splits—pressure sings;
cut the air—unfold the wings.

Break the needle—read me wrong.
No brake, no ceiling, I run strong.
If the meter starts to plead,
I keep pouring into speed.
Break the needle—burn it clean;
I don’t slow—I turn machine.
When the gauge says “done,” I laugh—
tear it off the dialing path.

Soft command: “lower, less.”
I reroute it into yes.
Sparks in cables, teeth in wire,
I am fuel and I am fire.
Close your book of gentler rules—
it misreads the louder schools.
Every scar became a gear;
watch me drive it out of fear.

Hold the pulse—don’t trim the light;
open throttle, meet the night.

Break the needle—read me wrong.
No brake, no ceiling, I run strong.
If the meter starts to plead,
I keep pouring into speed.
Break the needle—burn it clean;
I don’t slow—I turn machine.

Lead: Break it.
Gang: Break it.
Lead: Past the mark.
Gang: Take it.
Lead: Keep it loud.
Gang: Make it.
Lead: I won’t beg—
Gang: I’ll break it.
(full voice) I’m the surge you couldn’t vet—
this is not as loud as I get.

Break the needle—read me wrong.
No brake, no ceiling, I run strong.
If the meter wants to plead,
I outrun the plotted speed.
Break the needle—burn it clean;
octave up, the city screams.
Touch control and lose the lead—
(scream tag) BREAK—THE—NEEDLE.
I don’t slow, I set the scene—
redline, golden gasoline.

Street turns pale; engines fade—
I stay bright in what we made.


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