Immortality (007 can´t die) Film-Fiction

New Bond movies always face the same question: *do we preserve an icon as a cultural time capsule, or do we sand him down until he becomes just another interchangeable action hero?* The fact that Bond often feels “out of time” is not automatically a scandal. It’s part of his myth. A character is allowed to have sharp edges—especially if the film is not claiming those edges are admirable.

Bond has always been a projection screen: hard on the outside, inwardly a bundle of control needs, hedonism, cynicism—yet, in crucial moments, a strangely consistent humanist. You can call parts of that “toxic,” or you can read it as **armor shaped by damage**: a man who regulates closeness through ritual, performance, risk, superiority, and the safety of a persona. That ambivalence is exactly what makes him compelling. A fully “politically correct” Bond wouldn’t modernize him—it would **remove his engine**. The charm lives in the friction: glamour and danger, wit and loneliness, seduction and self-destruction.

The key is the film’s stance: *depiction is not endorsement.* Bond can flirt, exaggerate, play the ironically sexist pose—so long as the storytelling makes it clear that this is tradition and performance, not the moral standard. Contemporary films can handle that elegantly: with self-awareness, with women who have real agency, with clear consent, with consequences when Bond crosses lines, and with a world that doesn’t reward him for entitlement.

In that frame, Bond’s “manhood” can remain complicated—sometimes problematic, sometimes wounded, sometimes absurd—without being anti-woman. It becomes character, not propaganda. And it keeps Bond what he is: an icon you can critique and still enjoy, a polished mask with cracks you can actually see. *If you remove the cracks, you don’t get a better Bond—you get no Bond at all.*


[Intro | spoken/half-sung, intimate]
They buried his badge…
and filed his last words under myth.
But the dead don’t lie…
they just whisper… where the living won’t listen.

[Verse 1]
He said, “There’s a program under velvet light,
a cure with a needle and a smile.”
A touch in the blood, a door in the mind,
a new kind of leash in style.
They don’t need guns when they can tune your need,
feed you a hit, then starve you slow—
and every screen becomes a priest,
preaching what you’re meant to want to know.

[Pre-Chorus]
I read his notes like a rosary of smoke,
each page a warning dressed as fate.
If this is paranoia—
why does every shadow know my name?

[Chorus]
Immortality… I can’t die, I just disappear,
I rest in the dark, then I reappear.
You can burn my cover, you can flood my past—
but I come back sharp when the world won’t last.
Immortality… I don’t live for the crown—
I live for the moment the masks come down.
And if you think you own the night…
I’m the reason it fights back.

[Verse 2]
DopaminWorks—pretty word, ugly prayer,
a temple of metrics and hunger.
They sell you “choice” in a neon dress,
while the real hands pull you under.
A war without bullets, clean and polite—
a feed that decides who you love.
They tune your outrage, they rent your delight,
turn your pulse into push-and-shove.

[Pre-Chorus 2 | darker, rising]
But it’s bigger than one name on one glass door—
it’s a choir of suits behind the wall.
And every time I get close enough to touch the truth…
the truth changes shape and crawls.

[Bridge | dramatic key change / breakdown]
He died with the secret in his teeth—
so I carry it now.
Not for revenge…
for the chance that someone, somewhere, can still be free.

[Final Chorus | bigger, brass + strings, then drop to voice]
Immortality… I can’t die, I just disappear,
I rest in the dark, then I reappear.
You can flood the city, you can blur the line—
but I follow the signal inside the spine.
Immortality… your control is a lie—
no safety, no guarantee, just a velvet goodbye.
So I’ll break your mirror, I’ll burn your screen—
and I’ll leave you one truth you can’t unseen.

[Outro | whispered]
He can’t really die…
he only rests…
and returns.