LOST EVERYTHING

Lyric

I lost everything

I lost my lover
I lost my friends
I lost my parent
I lost my teacher
I lost my community
I lost my social value
I lost my conviction
I lost my patriots

I lost P@NK SPIRITS
I lost P@NK SPIRITS
I lost P@NK SPIRITS
I lost P@NK SPIRITS
I lost P@NK SPIRITS
I lost P@NK SPIRITS
You want to make me your slave

I lost everything
I lost my God
I lost my God
I lost my bible
I lost my bible
I lost RAHAB
I lost RAHAB
You want to make me your slave

I went to a suicide spot the other day
in a drunken stupor I heard him saying come here
I know that you people want me to die there Sorry.
I was too scared to die RAHAB,
How clever you are RAHAB,
You are part of that genealogy I’m worthless in this world.

I lost everything

I lost my house
I lost my parent
I lost my brother
I lost my sister
I lost my baby
I lost my organ
This is genocide PLEASE RESCUE ME!

I lost self-esteem
I lost self-esteem
I lost self-esteem
I lost self-esteem
I lost self-esteem
I lost self-esteem
But I haven’t lost sight of the hope of living

Consideration

This work is a prayer, a curse, and a record of self-salvation, constructed around a barrage of losses. The endlessly repeated phrase “I lost …” serves as more than just a list of events. By counting what has been lost one after another, the speaker is tracing the contours of their own being. A paradox emerges: it is not what one possessed, but what one has lost, that exposes the self-image. This reversal is the driving force of the song, and at the same time resonates with punk’s spirit of “rebooting from zero.”

1. The Litany of Loss and the Expansion of Scale

The enumeration beginning with “I lost everything” expands its scope from the intimate (lover, friends, parent, teacher) → to the communal (community, social value, conviction, patriots) → to ideals and faith (God, bible). As the objects of loss extend outward from close others to society, and then into the transcendent realm, the pain of loss resonates as the collapse of an entire worldview rather than individual events. What is crucial here is that the speaker attempts to quantify their losses. Repetition becomes ritualized, transcending mere emotional outpouring and inscribing loss as a chain of primary data. This resembles the form of a “litany”: with each added word, the contours of emptiness grow sharper.

2. The Paradox of “P@NK SPIRITS”

The repeated cry of “P@NK SPIRITS” is symbolic, including its special notation with “@.” By inserting a digital symbol into the traditional “PUNK,” old-school rebellion is connected with the anonymity and disconnection of the internet age. What is fascinating is that shouting that it was “lost” paradoxically proves the vitality of punk itself. The declaration of loss becomes testimony of survival. The more one insists something is gone, the more it smolders within. This paradox lies at the song’s core: “because it’s lost, it can still be named.” The ability to name denies complete extinction.

3. The Fear of Enslavement—The Voice of Power

The line “You want to make me your slave” links individual collapse with social pressure. The “you” here does not point to a specific person, but can be read as the collective forces of norms, conformity, systems, algorithms, and nationalism—all reducing the subject to a “usable resource.” In dialogue with lines like “I lost my social value,” “I lost my conviction,” “I lost my patriots,” the speaker denounces both the pain of being pushed outside the value system and the attempt to exploit that exclusion as a pretext for subjugation. Loss is not mere weakening—it functions as a conduit to obedience. Exposing this is the blade of this line.

4. The Window of Rahab—A Tale of Outsider Salvation

The sudden invocation of “RAHAB” in the middle of the song recalls a marginal figure from the Book of Joshua in the Old Testament. Though a woman of a foreign city, Rahab chose action at the brink of destruction and was ultimately woven into the “genealogy.” The lyrics “RAHAB, How clever you are / You are part of that genealogy” celebrate both the wit of surviving on the boundary of ethics and the inversion by which one once outside the canon is inscribed in its very center. While calling himself “worthless,” the speaker sees in Rahab a mirror of the possibility of revaluing worth. Even while claiming to have “lost” God and the bible, the reach toward a biblical loophole can be interpreted as a desire for narrative beyond belief itself. Even without belonging, narrative can still rescue.

5. The Edge of Suicide and the Ethics of Fear

“I went to a suicide spot … Sorry. I was too scared to die.” This is the rawest moment. What is striking is that the outcome is not phrased as “I lived,” but as “I couldn’t die.” Though it sounds like a declaration of defeat, ethically it is profoundly affirmative. Fear itself can serve as a seawall for life. It is not through brave transcendence but through shameful hesitation that life continues. Though the speaker confesses shame, that very fear extends their time. In resonance with “But I haven’t lost sight of the hope of living,” fear becomes the minimal sensor for not losing sight of hope’s afterimage.

6. The Loss of the Body and the Hyperbole of Genocide

The line “I lost my organ” carries a dual sense—biological organ or musical organ. Either way, it is the loss of an instrument for sounding oneself. When this cumulative chain of losses leaps to the word “genocide,” the text borrows the vocabulary of historical violence. This is exaggeration, but it signals the sense that the speaker’s experience is continuous with systemic erasure and exclusion. The hyperbole functions as hyperbole—to amplify the cry of “PLEASE RESCUE ME!” into a megaphone.

7. The Repetition of Self-Esteem and the Minimal Hope of Sight

The multiple repetitions of “I lost self-esteem” make visible how self-evaluation collapses not in a single blow, but through repetitive, chronic erosion. Yet a turning point arrives in the final line: “But I haven’t lost sight of the hope of living.” The speaker does not claim to possess hope, only that they have not lost the ability to perceive it. Not possession, but perception. A modest yet resilient declaration: even without holding it, one can still see it. As long as sight remains, one does not lose direction. In dialogue with the opening “I lost everything,” what faintly survives outside “everything” is only sight. This becomes the final remaining asset.

8. Form and Sonic Implications

The soundscape implied by the text is a mass of repetition. The enumerative verses strike in sharp bursts, with brief breaks, while the chorus “you want to make me your slave” muddies the chords. The repeated “P@NK SPIRITS” expands the chorus with each naming of loss, inviting the audience’s voices to merge. The negative form “I lost …” transforms, in performance, into the affirmation “I can still scream.” This structure pairs naturally with punk’s live energy. Toward the end, stripping back the sound for “But I haven’t lost sight …” and leaving only the echo on “living” reinforces meaning through sound. Here, silence is not defeat but a dark adaptation enabling sight.

9. Typography and the Spirit of the Times

The capitalized “RAHAB,” the symbol-infused “P@NK,” the repetition of identical phrases, the short sentences—these reflect a literacy honed in the post-internet era of speed and post-truth rhetoric, where emphasis becomes truth-like. Rather than intricate metaphors or long rhetoric, fragments and markers of emphasis secure the density of felt reality. Excess capitalization and brevity miniaturize anger into portable units. Portable anger spreads easily in collective chanting—here lies the affinity between punk and the viral nature of SNS.

10. Conclusion—“Because It’s Lost, It Can Be Seen”

“LOST EVERYTHING” is both a total reckoning of loss and a narrative of perception. To still name what is lost, to let the voice overlap with others, to let fear prolong life, to stake oneself in the outsider’s story of slipping from outside into inside—these are not grand victories. But music functions as punk not when it feigns triumph, but when it voices the reboot from below zero. What remains at the end is not “hope” itself, but “sight of hope.” A faint view, yet sufficient to set direction. At the tail of “I lost …” repetition, this barely surviving sight becomes the lighthouse of the entire song. The litany of losses turns into a ritual of guarding the faint light of vision—this is the core of the song.