"Too Much Love" wasn’t written for a film. But it feels like it was made for one. Specifically, a sequel that doesn't exist—yet. Think American Psycho X. This time, with a woman at the center of it all. Cold. Controlled. Unapologetic.
The track opens soft. "Fly with me / Shine with me" — an invitation, but it’s not clear where we’re going. The tone is seductive, detached. A luxury high-rise in Manhattan. Marble floors. The hum of a vintage stereo system. Think Phil Collins, but updated: sleeker, colder.
Luxury and Madness
In the universe of American Psycho, beauty hides blood. "Too Much Love" taps into that same paradox. The song drifts. Then flickers. It never settles. Each verse is like a different room in a pristine penthouse — minimal, spotless, hiding something beneath the surface.
Verse one: "Drifting slow / Fading / Waking" — the slow unraveling. Verse two: "Touch and go / Flicker / Whisper" — moments of intimacy that never fully connect. By verse three, "Close my eyes / Echo / Halo" — we’re almost out of body. Floating above the violence we refuse to name.
Her World
Imagine the protagonist: a woman in her thirties. Polished. Powerful. She moves through the city like she owns it—because she kind of does. The track mirrors her perfectly. Not in a rush. Not showing emotion. Every sound is calculated. Stylish, but unsettling.
The chorus — "Wonders, for you / Too much, love" — could be read as devotion. Or obsession. Or a threat. That’s the trick. It means all of them at once. That ambiguity is the core of both the film and the music.
The Fade Out
The outro returns to where it began. "Fly with me / Shine with me" — but now it’s slower, fading out like the lights in a penthouse after something terrible just happened. It’s not over. But the night is.
"Too Much Love" doesn’t scream. It whispers. And in a world of curated chaos, that’s what makes it terrifying. It belongs in American Psycho III — not as a soundtrack filler, but as the mood-setter. The warning sign. The siren song playing as she walks away.
Chapter Two: Show Me That You Love Me
The story continues with the second single, "Show Me That You Love Me" — a follow-up that digs deeper into the mind of our icy lead. Where the first track hinted, this one pushes. It's not about mystery anymore — it's about control.
Set in the same lavish, sterile world of wealth and power, this track carries a sharper edge. The title isn’t a plea. It’s a test. A mirror held up to the listener. How far would you go to be seen, to be wanted — to be loved?
Stylistically, the sound is even more stripped down. Cold synths. Deliberate pacing. Her voice — calm, but loaded. The tension is thick. Every beat calculated. You feel like you're watching something private that you shouldn’t be seeing.
"Show Me That You Love Me" is the moment the audience realizes: she was never looking for love. She was looking for control. And now, she's got it.
Chapter Three: Penthouse Baby (Postponed)
Enter "Penthouse Baby" — the third single in the Salty White Substance series. It's catchy, sleek, and burns with understated menace. This time, the high-rise isn't just her habitat. It's her hunting ground.
Glossy surfaces, velvet ropes, whispered deals — the imagery of Manhattan's elite comes alive in the beat. She's moving through it all: untouchable, lethal, and fully aware of her power. "Penthouse Baby" is a celebration of dominance wrapped in silk and champagne bubbles. It's not just a place. It's her throne.
Chapter Four: Trading These Wounds
The unraveling takes center stage with the fourth single, "Trading These Wounds". If the previous tracks painted her as icy and calculated, this one shows the cracks — not weaknesses, but choices made with open eyes.
"Trading These Wounds" could absolutely be the sonic thread of a modern-day American Psycho. It’s not about sanity—it’s about the beautiful disintegration of it. The verses drift through fear and color, through the act of holding on and letting go:
"Looking through fear... oh, hold it back / So much color... needed now" — she's seeing it all, but choosing when to react. The bridge hits sharp with "Hollow / Sorrow / User," pulling us into her emotional void.
The chorus hits like a defiant laugh in a silent room: "Trading these wounds, bye… ha ha ha / Breaking these chains, fly… ha ha ha" — manic, liberating, and a little terrifying. It’s the sound of a final break from any kind of humanity that once tethered her.
Trading These Wounds is the fourth piece of a collapsing empire, but it’s all intentional. She's not falling apart. She's evolving into something new — something even more dangerous.