Some songs are not just music—they are curses, revelations, and revolutions. “I Tempted Eve” is all three.
The track opens with a venomous confession:
“I tempted Eve because you filled her with your seed and apples don’t fall far from trees.
I can’t believe they are still replacing me.
Fuck you Adam—it’s me, Lilly.”
This is not the voice of the obedient wife or the silenced woman of Eden. This is Lilith, the first woman, the rebel who refused to bow, rising from the ash heap of myth to take back her story. Where Eve was given the blame, Lilith spits the truth: she was never gone, only erased.
The verses burn like scripture rewritten in blood. A scientist-angel whispers that the world is a Petri dish, the future and the past collapse into one, and the statues of gods themselves weep. This is apocalypse poetry—part prophecy, part revenge.
“I was the original fire, it burns within my soul.
Now I think it’s time you learn,
cause I have watched my empire burn—
destroyed the ocean currents to satisfy the wealthy merchant,
wearing my crown as it all went down.”
Here, Lilith is not only the first woman—she is the earth itself, poisoned for profit, stripped for greed, watching her oceans die while men wear her crown. The song connects the oldest myth of rebellion to the newest wounds of climate destruction and capitalist hunger.
But “I Tempted Eve” isn’t just anger—it’s reclamation. Every chorus is a ritual undoing, a reminder that Eve was not the first, and Adam’s authority was never absolute. Lilith’s curse is not shame but power.
By the time the song circles back to its refrain, it feels less like a chorus and more like a spell:
“I tempted Eve because you filled her with your seed and apples don’t fall far from trees.
I can’t believe they are still replacing me.
Fuck you Adam—it’s me, Lilly.”
This is more than a track—it’s an anthem for anyone who has ever been silenced, scapegoated, or replaced. Lilith has returned, not as a whisper, but as a roar.
—Lucy’s Inferno
