Scylla by French artist Douleurs Muettes opens a window into the mind of someone who feels like a modern-day sea monster, hiding razor-sharp fears beneath calm waters. Friends and family knock on the shell, hoping to reveal the colors underneath, yet the singer prefers to seal every crack. Loneliness, suicidal thoughts, and a constant battle with invisible flames fill the verses, while night-time drives and music become the only safe harbors. The name Scylla points to the mythical creature that devoured sailors; here, it symbolizes the inner beast that threatens to swallow hope at any moment.
Despite the darkness, the song is not a surrender but a confession of resilience. The narrator admits weakness, sensitivity, and exhaustion, yet still “plays the game of existence,” convinced that pain will eventually serve a purpose. By painting wounds with ink instead of showing them raw, the artist transforms silence into art, inviting listeners to see their own hidden terrors reflected in the lyrics. The result is a hauntingly beautiful reminder that speaking—or singing—about suffering can keep us from sinking into it.