OLYMPICS

OLYMPICS is the conclusion — not just of the project’s tracklist, but of its emotional and conceptual arc. It’s the moment where everything prior comes into alignment: the chaos of early tracks, the shifts in mood, the layered transformations — all leading here, where clarity finally takes shape.

​

The production reflects that evolution. It’s clean, forward-driving, and carefully restrained. The energy is deliberate — not passive, but not reaching. The track doesn't rely on spectacle or aggression to make its point. Instead, it finds strength in composure. It's focused, confident, and grounded in purpose.

​

But what truly defines Olympics is the monologue that enters near the end — a quote from Good Will Hunting, delivered in full:

​

“I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel.
You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling.
I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right? 'Once more unto the breach, dear friends.'
But you've never held your best friend's head in your lap and watched him gasp his last breath, looking to you for help.
You've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable.
And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months, holding her hand,
because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term 'visiting hours' don't apply to you.
But you're a genius, Will. No one denies that.
No one could possibly understand the depths of you.”

​

Its inclusion isn’t ornamental — it reframes the track entirely. The message is clear: insight doesn’t come from distance. Experience matters. Emotion matters. And real understanding requires vulnerability, loss, gratitude, and time.

​

The quote brings the project’s central idea into full resolution.

​

Throughout the album, there's been a tension between energy and introspection, performance and purpose. Olympics acknowledges that creative output — no matter how sharp, modern, or well-produced — only holds weight if it’s rooted in something lived and felt. In that way, the track becomes less about arrival, and more about recognition: of what it took to get here, and of what still lies ahead.