Overheard at Burning Man

About this track

“Overheard at Burning Man” drifts through camps, art cars, medic tents, DJ booths and the Temple, collecting the weird, raw, and unguarded things people say when they think no one’s really listening. It’s the Playa’s group mind, cut up and played back as one long, dusty confession.

Lyrics

Walk with me.
Past the blinking bikes, the glowing towers, the fire-belching dragon.
Open your ears.
This is what the dust says—
when no one knows they’re being heard.

"It ain’t the dust — it’s the amateurs that’ll kill you."
"You don’t join DPW. You survive it."
"No one’s in charge. Everyone’s in denial."
"If it ain’t on fire, it ain’t our problem."
"DPW. No gods. No bosses. Just tools."

All hail The Builders:
They arrive when the desert still sleeps.
They drag steel from silence, wrench shade from sky.
Rusted saints in Carhartt robes.
Calloused hands, sharp tongues.
Their gospel? Get it done.

The Sonic Shamans don’t DJ — they summon.
"This BPM is off by two and I can feel it."
"This isn’t a DJ set — it’s a frequency exorcism."
"Bassline therapy is in session."
"Don’t touch the mixer. Touch the moment."
"This track is goodbye."

Art Car DJs bring the party to you — whether you're ready or not.
They ride dragons with speakers for teeth.
Looping spells in one twenty eight Beats Per Minute.
You don’t dance to the beat—
You surrender to it.

"Influencer Ponies, Radical self-expression — optimized for engagement."
"Do I look radically inclusive in this filter?"
"Wait, pose again—my aura was blinking."
"I found myself… in my comment section."
"Radical self-expression… but curated."
"This outfit has more philosophy than fabric."

Sparkle Kids, Radical self-expression, plus accidental magic.
They shimmer like mirages.
Filtered saints in mirror visors.
Searching for signal in a sea of dust.
Broadcasting beauty, pixel by pixel.

Tech Bros, Seeking enlightenment with backend scale a BILL it tee.
"I merged with the vibe mainframe."
"You’re not broke — you’re energetically blocked."
"I coded my own enlightenment."
"Blockchain meets chakras, bro."
"This start up is spiritual."

They pitch apps from hammocks.
They charge crystals and seed funding.
Hustling transcendence, version 3 point oh

Welcome to the Medic Tent, It’s not a clinic. It’s a confessional.
"I came in for a blister, stayed for an existential unraveling."
"The IV drip gave me electrolytes and forgiveness."
"The medic held my hand like they’d done it before—lifetimes ago."
"I thought it was sunstroke. It was soul-stroke."
"This isn’t a triage tent. It’s a forgiveness chamber."
"They gave me gauze for the wound — and silence for the rest."
"I walked in broken. I walked out burning."

Temple and the Healing
Some wounds are made of memory.
Some burns are chosen.
The Playa doesn’t judge your broken parts—
It dances with them.
And then, it lets them go.

I have a Confession
"I saluted the effigy. Then I danced with ghosts."
"We rode the Shark Car into our own subconscious."
"I align my chakras with the bassline."
"I saw god—and they DJ sunrise sets."
"This isn’t over — it’s a beginning"
"You came here to meet yourself — dusty and divine."

The wind carries voices.
Some make sense.
Some make art.
Some just leave traces you can’t explain

So listen…
Not just with your ears—
But with whatever's left of your soul
after the burn.