Empty Hands Lyrics – Poppy | from “Empty Hands”

​Poppy’s plunging into the abyss with Empty Hands, her seventh studio plunge dropping January 23, 2026, via Sumerian Records, and the title track feels like a glitchy exhale—raw, relentless, begging you to let go before the static swallows you whole.

This closer pulses with Poppy’s wild reinvention: jagged industrial edges crashing against hyper-pop shimmer, her voice fracturing from ethereal coos to guttural snarls over synths that hum like malfunctioning hearts. It’s avant-garde metal-pop sorcery—think Bring Me the Horizon’s brooding shadows fused with her bubblegum-metal past, self-directed in LA haze with producer Jordan Fish layering beats that build like a breakdown you can’t outrun. Thematically, it’s all about hollowed-out surrender: fists unclenching in the face of chaos, chasing ghosts of control amid emotional wreckage, those looping refrains (“empty hands, empty plans”) turning vulnerability into a defiant mantra. No collabs teased for this one yet, but the album’s blueprint—13 tracks of surrealist fever dreams—hints at cameos waiting in the wings, announced back in mid-November with fans losing it over the “Bruised Sky” teaser that flipped emo ache into deathcore drops.

Empty Hands picks up Negative Spaces’ fractured thread from ’24, but bolder: a sonic scrapbook of dystopian vibes, where industrial grind meets pop hooks and callbacks to her YouTube-era weirdness. The tracklist sprawls with bangers like “Public Domain,” “Guardian,” “Unravel,” “Dying to Forget,” “Time Will Tell,” and “Eat The Hate,” clocking around 45 minutes of genre-bending catharsis—no tidy narrative, just Poppy unpacking the weight of reinvention in a world that demands you perform. Recorded amid her post-tour reset, it’s her most unfiltered swing at blending the brutal with the beautiful, proving she’s not chasing trends—she’s torching them.

She’s at that rare peak where reinvention feels like reckoning, 30 now and sharper than ever after sold-out runs with Bad Omens and that viral Knotfest set blending tears with riffs. The Coachella kid who morphed from kawaii doll to nu-metal siren is owning her chameleon skin, trading shock for substance while stacking plaques and therapy wins. Empty Hands? It’s her fist-bump to the void—empty, yeah, but brimming with the kind of fire that refills what it burns.

Dive into the Empty Hands lyrics below and unpack its raw narrative. Don’t miss other Empty Hands tracks for more of Poppy’s boundary-shattering industrial pop.