Snow crunched under my boots on the icy Sapporo street, neon screens blasting winter sales like relentless ads for a hollow dream. I pulled out my phone, strummed the root note on my beat-up guitar, a deep, unyielding C# that cut through the cha-ching echo of yen-chasers rushing by.
“This one’s ‘The Cashless Root’,” I muttered to the lens, my manifesto against the grind. “Ne no Hangyaku”, the rebellion of the core sound. No bling, just the punch of what’s real.
The wind whipped flurries as I hit record, voice steady over the hum. Passersby glanced, salarymen with briefcases, influencers posing for likes, but I spun the world on that single note, drowning their hustle in rhythm. This was my opening strike, the cashless core rising above the tag.
Verse 1
Everybody’s got a tag in this frozen race,
Chasin’ screens that light up empty space.
Sales blaze under northern lights so bright,
But the root note calls — feel it tonight.
Why hide stiff in the glow’s cold bite?
High-tops tap, let the true sound ignite.
Pre-Chorus
Left, right through the flurries we sway,
Root note rising, chase the play.
Chorus
It’s not about the cash, cash, cash- –
No need for your cash, cash, cash.
Spin this world on the root note ’round,
Forget the price tag, hear the sound!
No bling on these strings we ground,
Root note hums, world’s unbound.
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