Ribs Lyrics – Poppy | from “Empty Hands”

Poppy’s peeling back the armor on Empty Hands, her seventh studio album haunting us come January 23, 2026, via Sumerian Records, and “Ribs” lurks as that late-night gut-punch—track 12’s whisper of what we leave behind when the glitter fades.

Teased in the tracklist drop just days ago, this one’s pure Poppy enigma: no full preview yet, but whispers from her Insta Lives hint at a hazy electronic drift, those signature glitchy synths curling around her ethereal croon like smoke from a forgotten fire. It’s experimental pop with industrial edges—think the misty drum-and-bass haze of “Unravel” meeting the grunge-rock snarl of “Guardian,” all co-produced by ex-Bring Me The Horizon wizard Jordan Fish. Thematically, it’s vulnerability unspooled: ribs as that fragile cage holding regrets, youth’s wild ache, and the surreal ache of outgrowing your own skin. Drawing from Poppy’s surrealist playbook, it’s less scream-along rage than a quiet unraveling—echoing Lorde’s nostalgic panic but twisted through her dollhouse lens, where nostalgia bites back.

Empty Hands clocks 13 tracks of eclectic fever: kicking off with “Public Domain” into bruised-sky confessions, unraveling threads like “Dying To Forget” and “Time Will Tell,” then building to eat-the-hate anthems (“Eat The Hate”) before closing on this bony introspection and the title’s bare-knuckle closer. Recorded in ’23-’25 sessions blending LA haze and UK edge, it’s her boldest pivot yet—no rigid genre chains, just pop sensibilities crashing into metal-tinged dreams, proving Fish’s touch turns her chaos into catharsis.

She’s at that rare crossroads glow, 30 and fearless after Negative Space’s 2024 metal-pop mash-up lit festivals ablaze—from Knotfest headliners to TikTok lore. The Coachella kid who morphed YouTube bubblegum into BMTH-level bite is ditching the shock for soul-baring surrealism now, tour dates teasing February ’26 runs that’ll unpack these bones live. Empty Hands isn’t just an album; it’s Poppy claiming the empty spaces, one exposed rib at a time.

Dive into the Ribs lyrics below and unpack its raw narrative. Don’t miss other Empty Hands tracks for more of Poppy’s glitchy, gut-wrenching surrealism.