Release
DMC (Original Mix, 150 BPM)
Hypnotic dark techno and futurepop circling a desire that feels like mercy, poison, comfort, and harm at once.
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Lyrics
You taste like mercy,
You feel like sin.
I know the poison.
I let you in.
You leave me burning,
Then make me beg.
One touch revives me.
The next one breaks.
I crave you.
I hate you.
I run—
Then wait for you.
DMC—
Sweet enemy.
You are the wound
That comforts me.
Your love is venom,
Slow in my veins.
You give me heaven,
Then close the gates.
I know your silence.
I know your game.
You make me suffer,
Then speak my name.
I crave you.
I hate you.
I run—
Then wait for you.
DMC—
Sweet enemy.
You are the cure
That poisons me.
Pull me closer.
Push me down.
Make me yours.
Then shut me out.
Every promise
Leaves a scar.
Still I follow
Where you are.
DMC—
No remedy.
I know you’re killing
What’s left of me.
The idea#
Desire becomes a closed circuit: mercy turns into sin, the cure carries its own poison, and every escape ends in waiting for the same person again. “DMC” names its beloved as both wound and comfort, refusing the easier fiction that love and harm arrive from opposite directions.
The lyric moves in sharp, controlled oppositions—closer and down, yours and shut out, heaven and closed gates—while the 150 BPM pulse keeps the body moving inside emotional paralysis. The production’s restraint matters: narcotic repetition, deep sub-bass, and a stern half-spoken vocal make the relationship feel less like a dramatic explosion than a system that has learned how to sustain itself.
By the final refrain there is no remedy and no clean release. The speaker understands exactly what is happening, yet knowledge changes nothing. That clarity is the track’s darkest element: the enemy is sweet because the damage has become inseparable from relief.
