Jasper Moranday - Jack the Dripper prod. Riffusion

Описание: A song about the alcoholic painter.

Lyrics


Verse I


Canvas on the floor like a coffin with its lid cracked

Liquor in his system, every gesture is a syntax

Splattering confessions in a language the gin tracks

Lines bleed together like the veins where the sins stack

Every bottle’s brushstroke, every pour a confession

The turbulence of bourbon turns the floor to obsession

He paints with his whole body, but the body’s in recession

A masterpiece of chaos, framed in self‑possession


Chorus

Jack the Dripper — drowning in the pigment

Every stroke a ghost that the spirits keep encrypted

Polluted by the proof, but the proof feels infinite

Art becomes the altar where the demons stay insistent


Verse II

Autumn rhythms echo in the glass he keeps refilling

Blue Poles leaning sideways like the balance he’s been killing

Convergence in the bottle where the shadows keep distilling

The mural on his conscience is a requiem unwilling

Critics call it genius, but the genius feels corrosive

Each drip a loaded chamber, every canvas explosive

The whiskey whispers louder than the colors he composes

His legacy’s a labyrinth of fractures he discloses


Chorus

Jack the Dripper — drowning in the pigment

Every stroke a ghost that the spirits keep encrypted

Polluted by the proof, but the proof feels infinite

Art becomes the altar where the demons stay insistent


Verse III

Graveyard in the bottle, yet the brush keeps resurrecting

The Deep is just a mirror where the void is reconnecting

Each pour is like a prayer that the silence keeps deflecting

But the silence answers back with the violence he’s perfecting

Motion made visible, memories arrested

The motion’s just a spiral where the liquor’s uncontested

The drip becomes a dirge, every color manifested

And the man behind the canvas is the canvas unprotected


Chorus

Jack the Dripper — drowning in the pigment

Every stroke a ghost that the spirits keep encrypted

Polluted by the proof, but the proof feels infinite

Art becomes the altar where the demons stay insistent