Provided with written permission from ‘Gnome Tone Records’™ Clockworks City, Pävärios.
Secondhand Halo wasn’t written—it boiled over.
It came after the band discovered that a top-tier SLAG pilot had been awarded the Iron Crest of Valor—for a kill credited to a RAT tech's last-minute sacrifice. The crew's body was never recovered. His name was never mentioned.
Ezra found out the truth during a data leak trade at a relay junction two levels below Clockworks East. The band locked themselves in a forgotten broadcast room and tracked the whole song live in one take, using busted gear and echo distortion from a decommissioned drone antenna to dirty the final mix on purpose.
“We wanted it to sound broken.
We wanted it to sound stolen back.”
—Juno
The halo in the title? It’s the shiny PR mask handed to execs, influencers, and career climbers—while the true work, the blood, the soul? Left behind. Buried quiet.
Secondhand Halo is a blistered tribute to every ground-level hero who held the line while someone else got the credit. It’s fury in four minutes. It’s a crown built from junk metal and real fire.
And it never forgets.
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Secondhand Halo (Lyrics)
(Shiny, isn’t it?)
(Shame it never fit.)
You wear that medal like it’s yours,
But your hands are cleaner than the floors.
Gave a speech, skipped the war,
Guess praise comes cheap when truth is poor.
You talk in slogans, walk with a grin—
Built your fortune on the RAT team's skin.
Secondhand halo, cracked and bright,
Worn like armor, but it's borrowed light.
Glory’s heavy—you’d never know,
You float above while we reload.
Secondhand halo, twisted crown,
We hold you up, while you look down.
But rust don’t shine, and smoke don’t glow—
So take your bow... and let it show.
Gave you scripts, gave you grace,
While we held sparks to your nameplate face.
You got cheers, we got bills,
You get to toast the win, while we pay for the kills.
Secondhand halo, cracked and bright,
Worn like armor, but it's borrowed light.
Glory’s heavy—you’d never know,
You float above while we reload.
Secondhand halo, twisted crown,
We hold you up, while you look down.
But rust don’t shine, and smoke don’t glow—
So take your bow... and let it show.
We built the roar—(you took the praise)
We bled the floor—(you set the stage)
You got the crown, we got the weight—
And still you claim it's all just fate?
Secondhand halo, we see ahead,
Polished lies in silver thread.
You shine with talent, that's not your own—
The truth, baby, says you'll end alone.
Secondhand halo, take your spin,
While we go build what’s real again.
The light you stole?
We lit it first.
And we’ll light it last—
When yours burns worst.
(Halo cracked... we never asked.)
(Truth fits better than that twisted mask.)
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