Mortal Men

Hollow Profit’s “Mortal Men” is the kind of track that doesn’t ask for your attention — it earns it, quietly and powerfully. Brody Lee Burke doesn’t waste time chasing trends or flexing for the algorithm. Instead, he offers a raw elegy shaped by personal grief and collective trauma, delivered with a poet’s pen and a survivor’s spirit. This is hip-hop stripped back to its core — storytelling, truth-telling, healing. Over Katsuro and Be Franky’s beautifully restrained production, the mood is set like a candle-lit vigil: solemn, still, and sharply human.

But what truly sets “Mortal Men” apart is Hollow Profit’s ability to hold space — for grief, for anger, for hope. His bars aren’t performative pain; they’re lived experience, voiced with clarity and care. As he mourns the dead and interrogates the world that took them, you feel him reaching for something bigger than catharsis — maybe legacy, maybe liberation. The beat doesn’t bang, it breathes. The rhymes don’t sting, they sit with you. In a culture often numbed by noise, this is a rare kind of resonance. Hollow Profit doesn’t shout to be heard; he speaks so softly, you lean in.