We Breathe in the Madness

Behold the misfits and midnight wanderers who still bleed for that raw pulse—this one’s for you. A relentless salute to every warped soul who remembers “Green & Gold” by The Rudimentals, Skepsis, Charlotte Plank, and Riko Dan. May its incendiary beat forever haunt your veins.

There’s a moment—electric and jagged—when you step off that ledge everyone swore would shatter you. We feel the wind carve open our lungs. It’s not just a sigh of relief. It’s a celebration in grayscale, a clandestine rave in the bones. They said we were mad. They called us fools. But here we stand—breathing.

We’ve danced on cracked glass, fingers bleeding, hearts thrilled by the risk. They told us the world would bend our spines, that our dreams were too warped, too bold. Yet every bruise taught us to laugh louder, grow darker, dive deeper. We didn’t chase safety—we chased the edge.

When you finally land, there’s a sweetness to that exhale. It tastes like gasoline and roses. We gulp it down, let it coat our senses. Because this isn’t about victory in their terms. This is the triumph of survival, the anthem of the beautifully insane.

We light one on the ashtray of their doubts. The flame flickers bright against the smoke, shadows crawling on the walls like secrets. We look at each other and nod—no words necessary. We know what it took to get here. We know how delicious it is to prove them wrong.

So here’s to the risk-takers, the midnight conspirators, the children of chaos. Here’s to us, still standing, still bleeding art into the world. This breath—this raw, trembling gasp—is our declaration: we chose the unknown, and we emerged alive. And, dear friends, it feels fucking beautiful.

– Mitchell + Deck