Serial Killer

Hi! Welcome to my channel. All songs here are a collaboration between my subconscious, my conscious, and two types of AI. In short, they are dream songs. I've kept dream journals since 2002. I use ChatGPT to select the dreams and create genre prompts. I edit the lyrics and genres myself to get things right and I use Suno to make the songs. I've created about 20-30 songs per year of dream journaling. I'll slowly be adding them here. I hope you enjoy!

Lyrics:

[Verse 1]
I was running through the blacktop dust
Hands still shaking, soaked in rust
I tried to leave the life behind
But the law caught up—two crossed the line

One went down with a look of shock
The other reached but I beat the clock
But blood was coming faster now
From somewhere I couldn’t quite allow

[Chorus]
I’m a serial killer at the end of the line
No escape hatch, no more time
Thought I could fade into the fog
But now I’m bleeding on the asphalt, talking to God
Aunt Judy kneels where I fell,
Says, “You lived a life worth telling—what a story to tell”
And I cry, “I could write a book.”

[Verse 2]
It wasn’t glory, wasn’t thrill
Just quiet nights and colder kills
A whisper here, a knife there
All to feel like someone cared

But now the sky's a drowning gray
And sirens wail a block away
She wipes my brow with shaky hands
And says, “You lived a life that broke the plans”

[Chorus]
I’m a serial killer at the edge of the road
Paid my debts in flesh and code
She says, “No one else has seen what you’ve seen
The smoke, the rot, the spaces between”
And I nod like it’s understood
But my chest is soaked, and the pain feels good
Then I say, “I could write a book.”

[Bridge – Soft guitar, wind sound builds]
Not a tale of villains, not of saints
Just the blur where life and memory paint
Two dead cops, one dead dream
And a woman whispering in the in-between

[Final Chorus – Stripped down, intimate]
I’m a serial killer at the end of the line
But maybe there’s still something mine
A name, a page, a bloodstained look
One last line before they close the book
She says, “You lived.”
I say, “I could write a book.”

[Outro – Quiet fade, heartbeat rhythm slows]
And that’s the last thing I ever said.