Deep in the shadowed corners of the human psyche, where regret coils like smoke and forgotten dreams fester unspoken, Ren crafts stories that feel less like songs and more like confessions whispered in the dead of night. “The Bedroom,” a harrowing chapter from his ambitious Vincent’s Tale, unfurls the unraveling of a man named Vincent—born into chaos, chasing highs that hollow him out, one desperate gulp at a time. It’s Ren at his most unflinching, weaving addiction’s grip and generational scars into a tapestry of quiet devastation, the kind that lingers long after the beat fades. Listeners drawn to The Bedroom lyrics by Ren are often those who’ve stared down their own mirrors, seeking solace in his brutal poetry.
Lyrics of The Bedroom by Ren
[Intro]
Anger, Have You Ever Felt Anger With Nowhere To Place It?
Vincent Felt Cold, Neglected, And Jaded, Impotent
Empathy Castrated
Look For The New Thing,
Always Look For The New Thing, But Never Look Inside
Never Look Within, Within,
Without, Above, Below, Same Thing
Wait, It Gets Deeper Than That
The Insane Thing, Insane Men Living In Insane Terrain Can Turn Insane,
Brains That Are Kinda Deranged, Strange
Without A Factor Of Cause And Effect, Factually,
The Man’s A Causality Of Constant Neglect
Let’s Start At The Start
[Verse 1]
Vincent Was Born In The Dark
A Homebirth To A Mother Paintin’ Scars On Her Arms
Track Marks From The Dragon, China White In Her Palm
Shootin’ Up The Birth Canal, Vinny Fell Out Like Yarn
Tumbled Out, Himself Unravelin’, And That Was The Theme
Exceptionally Average Gray Spray With Low Self-esteem
From The Fire To The Fryin’ Pan, Paintin’ It Green
When It’s The Cash That Rules Everything Around Me
Cream Get The Money, Funny, Vinny
He Weren’t Ever Good At Hustlin’
Shitty Jobs That He Was Dead End Stuck In Started A Combustion
Nothing Pulled Him Out Of Debt,
The Debt Collectors Rushin’ To Be Strippin’ Him Of Everything
Eventually, There’s Nothing, The Cycle Is A Cycle For A Psychopath On Ice
The Day Repeats, The Days Are Weeks, The Weeks Are Most Your Life
When The Day’s Done, It’s The Same One
It’s A Repeat, It’s A Re-run, A Déjà Vu Religion, A Foreboding Of A Prison
Oh Britain, Great Britain, Hail Britania, Rule The Waves Britannia Rule The Wage
We Started Out With Intentions And We Ended Up Like Slaves
Drink To Kill The Tension, But The Drinks Cost Your Wage
What Helps You Is What Kills You When You’re Living To Decay
[Bridge]
And So It Goes, Vinny Starts To Drink To Let Go
Soon, He’s Drinking ’cause When He Don’t Drink, Every Day Is A Day On Death Row
So, We Drink So We Don’t Have To Think, Ma-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o, See
Mercy Tastes Bitter Sweet
When The Spirit That’s Inside Of Him Sinks In His Teeth
[Verse 2]
And The Months Turn Over, May To October
More Days Pissed Than The Days He Spent Sober
Skin Looks Older, Demeanor Gets Colder
Sledgehammer Swing To That Chip On Your Shoulder
A Cold, Cold Prison, Deep In Alcoholism
Forty Percent Proof, No Juice, Inhibition, Get Loose
Bad Decision And Taboos When We’re Living For The Booze
Who’s Who, He Lose Himself To, One, Two
Many One, Two, Three Shots Down
Drown Those Sorrows Up In London Town
If We In For A Penny, We In For A Pound
Fate Comes Full Circle, Now It’s Vinny Boy’s Round
About “The Bedroom by Ren”
Ren drags you into the abyss with “The Bedroom,” a sonic unraveling where folk-tinged bars bleed into spoken-word fury—intimate, insidious, and impossible to shake.
At its essence, “The Bedroom” is a descent into the mundane horrors of self-sabotage, blending raw hip-hop rhythms with acoustic fragility to evoke the claustrophobia of a life on loop. Themes of neglect, from track-marked births to wage-slave drudgery, paint Vincent’s world in stark grays, his mood a cocktail of jaded impotence and fleeting rebellion. Production-wise, it’s sparse and spectral—gentle guitar plucks underscoring Ren’s rapid-fire delivery, punctuated by haunting ad-libs that mimic the echo of empty bottles, creating a genre that’s equal parts confessional rap and literary lament.
Vincent’s Tale emerges as Ren’s boldest narrative swing yet, a concept album chronicling one man’s spiral from cradle to collapse, framed as a modern-day cautionary fable. Dropping in full on February 14, 2026, via his independent Awful Records imprint, it builds on interludes like “The Bedroom” to explore empathy’s castration in a society that glorifies the grind while devouring the soul. The project’s artistic core? A rejection of escapism’s false promises—always chasing the “new thing” outward, never inward—mirroring Ren’s own battles with chronic illness and isolation, turning personal exorcism into universal myth.
Teased via intimate YouTube snippets last month, the track’s visual rollout features stark, single-take vignettes of dimly lit rooms, amplifying its themes without a single word of explanation. Collaborators stay minimal here—Ren helming lyrics and music solo—but the album promises guest spots from kindred spirits like IDK and Hopsin, hinting at a tapestry rich in raw dialogue. Pre-save on Spotify if you’re hooked; early cuts like this are already fueling fan theories on Vincent’s redemption arc.
Now 35 and thriving post his 2023 health scare, Ren’s in a phase of fearless expansion, channeling Lyme disease’s fog into sharper, more structurally daring work. “The Bedroom” marks a pivot from Sick Boi’s viral vulnerability to epic storytelling, slotting into his discography as a bridge between street-level grit and Shakespearean tragedy. It’s why he endures—not just as a rapper, but as rap’s reluctant bard, proving that true artistry blooms from the rot. In an era of polished facades, Ren’s refusal to sanitize the struggle cements his cult status, pulling millions into the fray without apology.
What grips in “The Bedroom” is its rhythmic inevitability, lines like “the day’s done, it’s the same one” looping like a curse, forcing confrontation with the prisons we build ourselves. As Vincent’s Tale unfolds, expect it to redefine narrative rap, blending Ren’s Welsh wit with global ghosts of despair. This isn’t background noise; it’s a mirror held to the marrow.
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