Fix what’s wrong, but don’t rewrite what the artist wrote. Stick to the official released version — album booklet, label site, verified lyric video, etc. If you’re guessing, pause and double-check.
Respect the structure
Songs have rhythm. Pages do too. Leave line breaks where they belong. Don’t smash things together or add extra empty space just for looks.
Punctuation counts (but vibe-editing doesn’t)
Correct typos? Yes. Re-punctuating a whole verse because it ‘looks better’? Probably not. Keep capitalization and punctuation close to the official source.
Don’t mix versions
If you’re editing the explicit version, keep it explicit. If it’s the clean version, keep it clean. No mashups.
Let the lyrics be lyrics
This isn’t the place for interpretations, memories, stories, or trivia — that’s what comments are for. Keep metadata, translations, and bracketed stage directions out unless they’re officially part of the song.
Edit lightly
If two lines are wrong… fix the two lines. No need to bulldoze the whole page. Think ‘surgical,’ not ‘remix.’
When in doubt, ask the crowd
Not sure what they’re singing in that fuzzy bridge? Drop a question in the comments and let the music nerds swarm. Someone always knows.
SPOKEN: Afterwards, it's like a dream
You can't remember but it seems
To stay alive inside your mind
And prey upon your leisure time
It happens in an open spot
The air is sticky and it's hot
First they take away our clothes
Then they lay us down in rows
A cloud appears and melts away
The flesh of some while others stay
Machines that look like little cars
Consume the bones and count the scars
In a place that no one knows
We are prisoners of those
That no one sees and no one hears
But everybody hates and fears
Every day they leave a tray
And take an empty one away
On the tray are chicken legs
Potato salad and some eggs
Song Fact
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SPOKEN: Afterwards, it's like a dream You can't remember but it seems To stay alive inside your mind And prey upon your leisure time
It happens in an open spot The air is sticky and it's hot First they take away our clothes Then they lay us down in rows A cloud appears and melts away The flesh of some while others stay Machines that look like little cars Consume the bones and count the scars In a place that no one knows We are prisoners of those That no one sees and no one hears But everybody hates and fears Every day they leave a tray And take an empty one away On the tray are chicken legs Potato salad and some eggs