This original song is written from Johnny Silverhand’s perspective, aimed straight at the stubborn, sharp-edged heart of V — a legend built out of broken contracts, chrome scars, biochip seconds, and the kind of defiance Night City can’t kill. It blends cinematic cyberpunk rock with neon-drenched atmosphere to capture the strange bond between a dying merc and the ghost in their skull: two souls, one fate, one borrowed timeline that refuses to stay borrowed.
The song moves from the tower where V “died,” to the neon gutters where they rose again, to every fixer's whisper and every street that learned their name. It traces the push-and-pull between V’s fight to live and Johnny’s instinct to burn the world down — and the quiet truth that both of them, fused together, became something stronger than the corpos ever designed. This is the sound of two legends learning they’re not running out of time… they’re rewriting it.
Released
Lyrics
Kid… you died in a tower of chrome and lies.
Now you’re running on my seconds.
Question is—what are you gonna do with what’s left?
You woke up with my dogtags in your veins,
Konpeki glass still cutting through your name.
Doc said “two souls, one skull, one grave,”
but you laughed like someone
who forgot to be afraid.
Afterlife ghosts wrote “legend” on your seat,
you bled for every rumor in the street.
I’ve seen this city chew up better men than me—
yet here you are, still
bargaining with destiny.
Countdown flickers in the corner of your eyes,
every breath a stolen byte of sky.
I’m the bomb they nailed behind your brow—
but you decide how loud it goes off now.
Raise your head, you’re on borrowed time,
but this city doesn’t get to write your last line.
Neon veins, chrome scars, heartbeat out of rhyme—
we are, we are more than borrowed time.
If the sky falls in digital fire,
let ‘em say you chose your own live wire.
No god, no corp, no tower’s design—
we are, we are more than borrowed time.
There’s a girl who dives in flooded dreams,
pulls broken faces from corrupted streams.
There’s a nomad with an engine for a spine,
a desert sky that keeps your name in mind.
A rockerboy still tuning ancient rage,
scribbling your silhouette on every stage.
Kid, you built a family out of scrap and scars—
people who’d follow you
beyond the shards of Mars.
You’re not the badge, the job, the stolen chip—
you’re every hand that
grabbed when you would slip.
I’m the ghost that wants to burn it all down—
you’re the one who taught
the ghost to stick around.
Raise your head, you’re on borrowed time,
but this city doesn’t get to script your decline.
Neon rains, back‑alley shrines,
we are, we are more than borrowed time.
If the road ends in a biochip’s glow,
let ‘em say you chose your own last show.
No king, no boardroom, no iron spine—
we are, we are more than borrowed time.
You’ve got cards on the table - Sun, Star, Devil, Door.
Every one of ‘em wants a different kind of war.
Take the tower, drag a god from the wire—
die on your feet in the heart of the spire.
Give me the wheel, let this old ghost drive—
I wear your skin and keep your people alive.
Ride with outlaws past the border sign,
trade city lights for a real sunrise.
Or climb that ladder of chrome and sin,
sell them your future just to stay breathing.
Whatever you pick, kid, here’s the crime:
thinking you’re only what’s left of the time.
Borrowed time… borrowed time…
Raise your head, you’re on borrowed time,
but the legend isn’t chained to how you die.
Neon nights, your name in the grime
we are, we are more than borrowed time.
If your body falls before the credits roll,
keep your laugh hard‑patched in our code.
From Dogtown alleys to the Afterlife sign
we are, we are more than borrowed time.
We are. We are. More than borrowed time.
When the lights cut out, and the ads go quiet…
remember this, samurai—
for a while there, we were real.
