In honour of Golden Hour: Part 4 out February 6th!
Since debuting under KQ Entertainment in 2018, Ateez have moved way beyond their original “A TEEnager Z” concept. Golden Hour: Part 2 marks a significant turn in their career. It arrived at the end of a breakout year, during which they transitioned from a rising group to established global headliners. This mini-album is the next installment in their Golden Hour series, capturing the luminous, time-centred moments in a language of light, flow, and resonance. They touch on relationships and life, effortlessly moving through different music genres. It is the culmination of their 2024 year: Coachella, a major U.S. tour, and then a beautiful record that leans into their identity rather than chasing trends.
Ateez’s discography showcases a unique blend of genres. Their music ranges from pop to hip-hop to R&B, yet Golden Hour: Part 2 arguably reflects their musicality in an entirely new way. The mini-album features 6 songs, each conveying its message both individually and cumulatively.
In particular, I want to examine two of my favourite songs from this album, titled “Man on Fire” and “Selfish Waltz.” Both songs draw comparisons to one another because they’re both about love. The songs deliver the concept of yearning and losing yourself in a love that is so strong. They both feel and sound so well polished, from their melody to their delivery.
“Man on Fire” frames desire as something so intense it becomes destructive. The song opens with the lines “Yeah, I’m losing control / I’m losing my mind / I’m losing myself,” immediately drawing this image of self-destruction. The narrator knowingly walks toward something that will burn them up emotionally, yet they choose it anyway. It’s not a calm, mutual affection on display here. It is the pull where identity and rationality start to fall apart under desire. “Losing myself” signals that this fire is already consuming the self. It sets the tone for a recurring theme: the head knows one thing, but the heart wants another.
The first verse is “straight to the middle of the fire / ain’t no slowing down,” which symbolizes the deliberate choice of running into danger. A little further down, the “red sun that is called you” signifies a person they desire that is both life-giving and threatening. Similar to the sun, it gives you life, but too close and it destroys you. Images of destruction and relentless force suggest that desire consumes reason, leaving only instinct in its wake. The pre-chorus, chorus, and post-chorus add onto this image as well. They all display images of walking “into these flames” for the other person, with no alternative path. It’s repeated, like a mantra of acceptance. There is no more argument or bargaining, just the affirmation that this burning path is their reality. The pre-chorus verse, “the sin of coveting the sun,” links to mythic or biblical ideas like Icarus flying too close to the sun and dying. Here, they again paint the picture that the person they want is similar to the sun, beyond what humans can safely touch and something that is ultimately unattainable or inappropriate. They sing “the apple you can’t have must be broken,” evoking the story of Eden. The temptation, sin, and knowledge that once you choose it, there is no going back, is also there.
The lines “need you so bad” and the final rap verses intensify the language of this want. The burning heats up even more, and the heart is described as thirsty to the point of strangling. This thirst is emotional deprivation; no matter how much affection or closeness is given, it’s never enough to quench the craving for this love and desire. It leaves the narrator in a constant state of lack and almost pain, showing the dark side of obsession. What was once exciting turns into something that hurts them, yet the lover still claims not to care, even if it burns them now. The rap verses directly touch on this cognitive dissonance. The head seems to understand the danger, but the body refuses to obey. Lines that question “isn’t it easier once?” and “move, move, i’m gonna plunge deeper” echo complete recklessness. There is no longer this restraint, slight as it once was. Now, choosing impulse feels simpler than restraint, even if it leads to the “fire.” The contrast between reason and instinct essentially describes this conflict where desire bypasses reason.
Many listeners, including myself, conclude double meanings here. Fire can work both as literal heat and artistic passion, and the sun can function as both a lover and life in the spotlight. The outro of the song drives home that nothing has changed. They would still “walk into these flames, if it’s for you” with no escape. The lack of resolution or healing in the lyrics suggests that the song is not about overcoming obsession but about inhabiting it fully. This self-destructive devotion is glorified, repeating the same cycle; each time the narrator burns, they would still do it again.
“Selfish Waltz” deals with love but in an entirely different way. Instead of following this all-consuming love head-on, it centres on a relationship stuck in a loop of conflict and regret. It frames a toxic, on-again-off-again relationship as a dance that looks graceful from the outside but feels like a war to the people inside it. The title of the song emphasizes how both partners keep returning to the same steps–this same cycle of pain they both recognize– but struggle to escape.
The very first lines describe the relationship as chaotic and indescribable, immediately encapsulating the mess they are in. The line “it feels like war tonight too” sets the emotional tone as tense rather than romantic. The verse then shows both people “going crazy,” exchanging harsh, irreparable words that cut deeply. As the verse continues, selfishness is described as something that covers or blinds their eyes, implying that neither person is seeing clearly anymore.
The chorus likens the relationship to a waltz that spins “round and round” only to return to the same place. They’re dancing to this “war-like” love song, never knowing how to get out of this loop. In moments of anger, they behave like strangers or enemies, erasing the history of love that was ever between them. This emotional cycle feels imposed and inescapable, as if it’s a soundtrack that keeps playing, forcing them to move even when they’re exhausted. The selfish aspect seems to imply that each partner tries to overstep and lead the dance, prioritizing their own hurt, pride, or desire for control, turning what should be a cooperative movement into a power struggle.
I especially love this song because the lyrics in the second verse show the relationship as something that both tears them apart and pulls them back together, a classic depiction of a push-pull, addictive bond. One questions the other, “why you actin’ like that?” and “why you so aggressive?” revealing that even their emotional states are misread. Intensity, mistaken for passion, conveys how out of sync the partners become throughout the song.
Finally, the bridge shifts perspective. How they move is described “as if it means nothing,” dancing the night away with forced gestures and predictable, almost choreographed moves. The relationship from the outside may look affectionate, but internally, every move feels hollow and rehearsed. The “next step is meaningless” expresses deep emotional burnout, where even continuing the relationship feels empty. The ballroom is called dry, and there is “nothing left to ignite,” signalling that even the passion that once fueled their fights and reconciliations had faded. The final idea that they “blindly repeat” the same things brings the metaphor full circle; it is a daily habit of going through a selfish, loveless choreography.
Together, “Man on Fire” and “Selfish Waltz” capture the crushing weight of romantic exhaustion. “Man on Fire” conveys this raw determination and intensity, framing love as something worth chasing even at the cost of getting hurt, while “Selfish Waltz” steps back into a colder light. These songs are some of my favourites throughout their entire discography, and I loved analyzing them. When you listen to them side by side, they feel like two points on the same timeline. “Man on Fire” comes first, consumed by the thrill of pursuit, whereas the second is trapped in the aftermath, dancing in circles to a song that no longer feels romantic. The songs suggest that passion without balance can easily turn destructive, and they invite listeners to question where devotion ends and where unhealthy attachment begins.