This album is a fearless dive into the heart of contradiction—where laughter meets loss, love walks beside trauma, and self-doubt dances with swagger. Each track is a snapshot of survival, told through gritty lyrics, tender melodies, and unapologetic emotion. From the vulnerable confessions of sleepless nights to the playful chaos of inner strength, it’s a soundtrack for those who feel too much, fall too hard, and get back up anyway. Raw, real, and unfiltered—this is the sound of scars turned into stories.

Personal Prison

I'd Do It Again

Broken Crowns (Remastered)

Call Me Shattered

All Our Yesterday's

Old Man, Young Man

Sorrows

A lone voice crackles through an old radio transmission, distorted by static. It’s the first person who saw the outbreak — terrified, frantic, pleading for someone to listen. Their words echo into an empty world, because nobody believed them until it was too late. Turns out it wasn't a drill after all.

(Intro) / This is not a drill

Dawn breaks over a dead world. The air is heavy with smoke, the skyline jagged with crumbling towers. Survivors move slowly through the streets, stepping over debris and ash, scanning the shadows for movement. This is not the world they remember — this is something new, something hostile.  Probably best to get a lay of the land first.

Lay of the land

In the dim light of an abandoned garage, survivors gather whatever tools and scraps they can find — pipes, axes, crowbars, knives. They test their weight, their reach, their sound when swung through the air. Each person searches for the weapon that feels like an extension of themselves, the one they trust to keep them alive. The air is tense with determination — and the knowledge that they’ll soon have to use them.

First, you're gonna need a weapon

You thought you could fight them. You were wrong. Every swing, every shot… they just kept getting back up. Now your lungs burn, your legs ache, but stopping means dying. The streets twist and blur around you as you sprint for your life. And behind you, the horde is not the only danger — the living are desperate, armed, and willing to kill for food, water, and ammo. Bullets are better saved for them.

Run! Run! Run!

The sky glows orange from burning towers as the walls of the last safe city give way. Sirens wail, streets boil with panic, and the air is filled with the deafening mix of gunfire, screams, and the relentless roar of the swarm. Soldiers shout orders over radios that cut in and out. The gates crumble, and the tide of the dead floods in, drowning the last hope for civilization.

Artificial_Ace

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