Monumental Times was inspired by my dear cat, Ziggy. Evolving from past mistakes, isolation from society, current crazy worldly affairs.

All songs written, arranged, produced, mixed, mastered: Daniel Lars 
All instruments and voice effects: Daniel Lars

Monumental Times

Gravity Pul

Gravity Pull

This piece opens with a gentle warmth, its harmonies flowing like a serene stream under soft light. Rooted in A-flat major, it delicately balances serenity and quiet strength, with each phrase thoughtfully shaped to evoke introspection.

The tender yet purposeful melody weaves seamlessly through a subtle accompaniment, creating moments of poignant stillness and heartfelt resolution. Embracing simplicity, the composition allows the emotional depth of each note to shine, while gentle modulations trace a narrative of reflection and quiet hope.

Co-producer: Blaž Pavšič
Mixed and mastered by @a7-recording-studio (www.a7recordingstudio.com/)

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Prelude in A-flat major

You might have looked around for help
And you don't know anyone 
Remember Jesus is your friend 
And He will not forsake you 

He said I'll be with you to the very end of your age
Stop crying 
Crying doesn't fix a thing 
Pick up your faith in Him 
No matter what you're going through 
No matter what the world has thrown to you 
Arise and rise look to Jesus 
And rise to Him today 
Look to Him today 
Though your father may forsake you 
Your brother may neglect you 
Your fellow countrymen may not see you 

Jesus won't forget 
But look up 
To the heavens 
He will do it for you 
He won't forget you 
He that endures till the end, He said shall be saved 
Arise and look to the heavens 
Look to Jesus 
And rise unto Jesus 
The author and finisher of our faith 
He won't forget 
He won't forget you

He_wont_forget

Lyrics: Brieuc Bohu
Music: Brieuc Bohu, Fred Offret

Vocals &  Bass: Brieuc Bohu
Guitars, Drums & Keys: Fred Offret

Mix & Master: Vianney Bohu at Origami Studios

Hachiko

Radio Silence

You'd walk past it
Most do
Paint chipped like bad decisions
One leg shorter than it used to be
Still, it waits
Under that half-dead tree

Enters girl, maybe seventeen?
Big sunglasses, bigger bubble tea
and a mop of joy named Pickle
Yes, she named the dog Pickle

She sits, cross-legged, like a question mark
tells Pickle he's a star
Snaps twenty-five angles
of one floppy ear and one historic bench

Caption?
"Look who found the philosopher's throne
😊😊😂❤️
#deepbarkthoughts"

Pickle pees on the tree
Bench approves
Tree does not comment

Then: a man and a woman
The date
They bring mulled wine in a thermos
Sit sideways, legs tangled like headphones in a drawer
He says something about stars
She says something about Lady Gaga
They kiss somewhere in the middle

A busker walks by singing Wonderwall
They tip him a sandwich and a smile
Bench approves
God of music sighs

Third act: Old man
Corduroy jacket in summer
Hands folded like quiet apologies

He doesn't speak
Doesn't blink much either
Just feeds pigeons one crumb at a time
like each one is a password to another day

He might be waiting
Or forgetting
Or remembering wrong on purpose

Bench knows his name
And age
And weight
And history
Doesn't say it out loud
Not polite

Pickle runs past again
He is twice as large now
The couple, now maybe married, maybe not, walk by
With a stroller

The old man doesn't come anymore
The bench doesn't judge
It just
Is there

The Bench

I wrote a proof once
In the margin of an old book
It held
It sang in silence
I solved a riddle no one posed
But someone should have
And the page
Bent to my will

I was on a train
Between Oxford
And existential despair
Light flickered. Ink cracked
My coffee spilled
Still, logic marched in perfect rows
Shining
Afraid to be alone

But the margin
Too narrow
For voices like this

I drew your outline
In the corner, soft and hidden
Lines too gentle for names
Wrote a vow, never signed
A plan with no axis
And the paper
Tensed beneath my wanting

Under the station's hum
I footnoted everything I didn't say
Margins full of detours
Echoes of maybe
Each heartbeat struck
A chord I never dared to play

What if the page could break open?
What if the lines ran wild?
Not neat. Not safe. Not approved
But real
Bleeding past every edge

Because the margin
Was never enough
Not for this voice
Not for us

Tear it out
Let the ink run free
We'll write where no lines go

The Margin Was Too Narrow

Moonlight Shadows

Parking lot haloed in sodium glare,
beer foam drying on my sleeve.
Your laugh ricochets off dented sedans,
a spark jumping cables in my chest.
Chain-link fence chews the moon in half,
we move in the frame of the security cams.
Your boots drag gravel into rhythm,
Jaws clenched on something unspoken.
(Night leans in, smelling blood and flame)

We don’t knock—we break the hinge,
coats split, grip slick, knuckles singe.
Sweat slides hot down collarbones,
eyes cut like hard metal in throats.
(The feedback makes one long scream)

We bite back in the floodlight,
bare teeth, no apology.
Hands up, hearts out, lungs on fire—
the ground shakes because we’re still standing.
We bite back in the floodlight,
let it burn our names clean.
If the roof comes loose tonight,
we go with it—screaming, undefeated.

Outside smells like perfume and raincoats,
someone’s elbow kisses my ribs hard.
Your mouth tastes like copper and mint,
words are lost as the bass creeps in.
Glass singing cracks under all the boots.
Bottle games shattered after they spin
Fists rise, in the air find their roots—
no one here is innocent.
(The street caves in, gravity picks a side)

Monitors bleed, thin wires pulled tight,
I catch your grin through the strobe—
every smile comes with a knife inside.
bodies ram into bodies, no one in control
(The moment snaps, bright and violent)

We bite back in the floodlight,
bare teeth, no apology.
Veins on fire, ears blown wide—
every new hit rewrites history.
We bite back in the floodlight,
let it scorch our skin.
If the walls start breathing smoke,
we want it louder, ready to dive in.

Alley steam blows from a sewer mouth,
Hear the popo coming from blocks away.
Lipstick smeared like a dare on your cheek,
Can't tell the difference between shaking and laughing.
Soaked shirts cling like clothes aren't needed
We lean against brick warm from the dance,
My throat is raw, but still hungry.
The sirens ring louder than the amps.
(High on watching the wreck we made.)

Streetlight stutters, tags us twice,
buzz-count verdict: real tonight.
Tomorrow is a killer, cold, precise,
It keeps its distance—not in this fight
(We're here to beat fear to death)

We bite back in the floodlight,
bare teeth, no apology.
Scars fresh, spirits loud—
the noise is a second home to me.
We bite back in the floodlight,
let it brand us free.
If the dark wants a piece of us,
It's gonna choke if it tries to touch me

(Mic squeal bleeds into open air,
drums fade like a pulse sun setting.
We walk off ringing, hot dripped, alive—
lights dying behind us, but never forgetting.)


Bite Back (Backlash)

Verse 1 — Tree Sway
They sway and sway like trees in the wind,
Thin bodies bending, the dance begins.
Big heads wobble, eyes flash bright,
Funny and strange in the cosmic night.
Chorus — Threshold Rhythm
No shaking fast, no sudden blast,
Big heads sway, the moment lasts.
Wave rolls out, then pulses break,
Aliens dance — the cosmos shakes.
Verse 2 — Arm Pull & Eye Flash
Arms to the head, the signal’s clear,
Eyes flare wide, the rhythm near.
Wave flows slow, then pulses spark,
Shiny frames hum through the dark.
Bridge — Static & Thought
No drums, no strings, just static flow,
Or tuning forks that start to glow.
Thoughts collide in a silent trance,
Big‑eyed aliens begin their dance.
Verse 3 — Telekinetic Dance
When they grow tired, they shift the scene,
Objects rise in a silver sheen.
Big heads hum, the cosmos bends,
Tables and stones start to dance with friends.
Chorus — Threshold Rhythm
No shaking fast, no sudden blast,
Big heads sway, the moment lasts.
Wave rolls out, then pulses break,
Aliens dance — the cosmos shakes.
Outro — Cosmic Glide
Shiny bodies, heads held high,
Dancing portals across the sky.
Static, music, thoughts all chance,
Aliens hum — eternal dance.

Alien Dance

Inspired in part by waterfalls in the Columbia River Gorge, Pacific Northwest, USA.

Jerred Seveyka: rhythm guitar
Bret Tobalske: lead guitar, doumbek

Decompression Stop

Cascade

Some new songs available here: https://axiomsofmediocrity.bandcamp.com/album/eighteen-below

The Bench

Axioms of Mediocrity