Bad Trip feels like opening the door to an uninvited guest that instantly turns your living room into a psychological horror movie. Clarice Falcão sings about a sinister presence that barges in wearing the exact same “uniform” as always, cradling a weapon as lovingly as a parent holds a child. The visitor offers the narrator one more sip from that ominous chalice, and, almost against their will, they drink. It is a clever metaphor for how we sometimes accept toxic thoughts, people, or situations simply because they feel oddly familiar.
The chorus hammers the idea home: this is a “bad trip” without any actual trip, meaning the nightmare is happening in broad daylight, no mind-altering substances required. As the intruder settles into the house, the narrator spirals into panic, wondering if the madness will ever end or if they will be stuck in it forever. Falcão transforms anxiety and intrusive fear into a catchy, darkly humorous anthem that reminds us how easily chaos can make itself comfortable when we do not set boundaries.