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Digital Mirror

The Sacred Scroll

A subway carriage becomes a chapel where bowed heads pray to feeds, brands and the promise of endless progress.

Cinematic folk · baritone · subway hymn · quietly ominousLyrics by Thomas LukaschewskiOriginal language: English

Intro

Steps fall heavy down the stair,
hollow echoes, filtered air.
A sign reads “Line Two — Salvation South,”
I taste the city in my mouth.
Doors slide wide, fluorescent bloom,
a thousand screens baptize the gloom.
I take my seat, the rail hums low —
the underground begins to glow.

Verse 1

Doors seal tight, confession time,
each phone sings a sacred rhyme.
Faces bow in pixel light,
thumbs reciting through the night.
A voice inside their heads repeats,
“You need more, upgrade, compete.”
They chant it soft, devout and true —
salvation's just a click or two.

Chorus 1

We still pray, we never quit,
we just changed the name of it.
No more gods, no more sin —
now the holy lives within the screen.
We mock the cross, but bless the feed,
we preach compassion, built on greed.
Our hymns are trends, our saints are brands,
we praise ourselves with folded hands.

Verse 2

There's a mirror in every feed,
a market built on make-believe.
They whisper, “Grow, invest, ascend,”
then sell you purpose on the trend.
A thousand coaches clone your pain,
and trademark hope for private gain.
They call it freedom, call it wealth —
but every prayer begins with self.

Chorus 2

We still pray to who we were,
every doubt's a small detour.
Bless the burn, the brand, the plan —
forgive me, for I am my fan.

Verse 3

At carriage nine a prophet cries,
his flag reflected in his eyes.
He swears his truth can cleanse the land,
his fury glowing in his hand.
The crowd divides — belief, disdain —
two choirs humming the same refrain.
They crown their saints, they damn the rest,
each side convinced their hate is blessed.

Bridge

Then sudden stillness, power gone,
screens go black, the sermon's done.
A cough, a sigh, a blink, a stare —
we meet like people, breathing air.
For one brief breath the spell is thin,
I almost feel the calm again.

Verse 4

The train resumes its steady drone,
each rider kneeling to their phone.
Their eyes are wide, their posture bowed,
each whisper drowned beneath the crowd.
“Keep scrolling — just a little more,”
their glowing gods demand the chore.
Forward, upward — trance and chain,
the faithful stare through endless pain.

Chorus 3

We still pray, we never quit,
we just changed the name of it.
No more gods, no more sin —
now the holy lives within the screen.
We mock the cross, but bless the feed,
we preach compassion, built on greed.
Our hymns are trends, our saints are brands,
we praise ourselves with folded hands.

Chorus Tag

Our hymns are trends, our saints are brands…
we praise ourselves with folded hands.

Outro

Doors slide wide, yet none depart,
the prophet hums, the wheels restart.
I see myself in window's glow,
the same believer I used to know.
Maybe heaven's underground,
it hums, it moves, it circles round.
Maybe grace is just the sign —
Next stop: Progress. End of Line.

© Traveler’s Mindset · Lyrics by Thomas Lukaschewski

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