You Didn't Want That Prod. IL - IK

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Jagged Sins (Instrumental)

I start the day mid-thought
something between a drumbeat and an accident
The room blinks awake
and the tools gossip about yesterday's miracles
One hums
One sulks
One lies
They're all wrong
and that's perfect

I stretch,
the floor creaks like it wants to join in
so I let it
That's the thing about work
it only looks like effort
from the outside
From within, it's gravity
sweet and unfair
I chase a stubborn shape 
around the table
it refuses sense
so I call it progress

Every failure has a pulse
if you listen right
I tap it, feed it
name it Tuesday

Laughter spills from nowhere
probably mine
and the walls pretend not to notice
They've seen me argue with shadows before

I tell them:
you wouldn't understand
this part's critical!

The air thickens
a rhythm forms without permission
I lose count of time
gain count of motion

Sweat, sawdust, syntax
whatever this is
it's singing

And when I stop
nothing stops
The room keeps going
the tools finish the joke
the silence applauds

I bow, wipe my hands
whisper to no one:
That was fun
can't wait to do it again!

Can't Wait

Everytime I try

[Verse 1]
Fog on the boulevard, whisper in the trees,
Something’s in the air, it’s colder than it needs.
Footsteps echo but I’m walking alone,
Underneath a silver light that cuts to the bone.
Eyes in the dark, they glimmer like fire,
Voices in my head pull me deeper, higher.
Every shadow breathes like it’s alive,
The night’s awake and I just arrived.

Pre-Chorus
Can you feel the pull when the stars align?
The howl of the wolves calls the blood divine.
Hearts beat faster, breath turns thin,
This is where the nightmare begins...

[Chorus]
Under the new moon’s glow, they rise, they run,
Vampires kiss with the taste of the sun.
Wolves in the valley are calling my name,
The night is a lover that plays no game.
Danger in the air, my fear ignites,
Dancing with the dark till the edge of light.
Don’t look back — don’t lose control,
You’re in the hands of the night’s black soul.


---

[Verse 2]
Crimson rain on the cathedral glass,
Time slows down, but the moment won’t pass.
A stranger’s eyes, too pale, too kind,
He said, “Run if you can, they’re right behind.”
Every streetlight flickers, every sound’s a clue,
The city’s heart beats, but it’s bleeding too.
Can’t trust the beauty, can’t trust the smile,
In the supernatural, sin’s in style.

Pre-Chorus
Feel the hunger crawl under your skin,
The darker it gets, the more they begin.
One wrong breath, one soft scream,
You’ll wake the creatures between the dream...

[Chorus]
Under the new moon’s glow, they rise, they run,
Vampires kiss with the taste of the sun.
Wolves in the valley are calling my name,
The night is a lover that plays no game.
Danger in the air, my fear ignites,
Dancing with the dark till the edge of light.
Don’t look back — don’t lose control,
You’re in the hands of the night’s black soul.


---

[Bridge]
(Whispered / atmospheric tone)
There’s a door between worlds — don’t step inside,
Not every ghost wants to say goodbye.
When the moon turns red and the stars all hide,
You’ll learn what it means to be alive.

(Beat drops, cinematic rise)
Silver veins, bleeding sky,
The angels fall, the devils fly.
Every secret’s sold in the dark,
You can’t kill what has no heart.


---

[Verse 3]
Now I’m part of the silence, part of the lore,
Half of me human, half something more.
The city sleeps, but I don’t dream,
I walk the edge of a deadly gleam.
Heaven’s gone quiet, hell’s wide awake,
The night’s got promises it loves to break.
One step closer to the unknown,
I’m the prey, but this hunt’s my own.


---

[Final Chorus]
Under the new moon’s glow, they rise, they run,
Vampires kiss with the taste of the sun.
Wolves in the valley are calling my name,
The night is a lover that plays no game.
Danger in the air, my fear ignites,
Dancing with the dark till the edge of light.
Don’t look back — don’t lose control,
You’re in the hands of the night’s black soul.

[Outro]
So when you walk alone, and the sky turns grey,
Remember — the night has its own way.
Every shadow’s watching, every star’s a sign,
You’re never alone when it’s new moon time. 🌑

Twilight

“Low Life” is a cinematic Icelandic post-rock composition where droning distorted guitar, choir textures, and the Heima String Kvartett merge into an overwhelming wall of sound. Within the density, delicate string melodies, church organ harmonies, and slow-moving atmospheric post rock dynamics create a piece that shifts from heavy and immersive to fragile and intimate.

Mike Taylor’s church organ anchors the track in a cathedral-like resonance, while the layered strings drift between modern classical minimalism and widescreen instrumental soundtrack music.
A powerful, textured work that captures the sound of volcanic landscapes, deep emotional pressure, and slow-burning eruption.

This is Icelandic post rock with strings, rooted in cinematic expression, drone guitar atmospheres, and a glacial sense of space.

Musicians

Laxá

Jussi Siglarson – Guitar

Bjarne Guðjohnsen – Bass

Matthias Helguson – Drums

Mike Taylor – Keyboards / Church Organ

Heima String Kvartett
Lisbeth Heima – Violin
Sif Árnadóttir – Violin
Natasha Guðmundsdóttir – Viola
Ída Sigurðardóttir – Cello

FFO (For Fans Of)

Sigur Rós, Mogwai, Mono, Explosions in the Sky, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Russian Circles, Balmorhea, Ólafur Arnalds, Max Richter, Hammock

Hashtags

#Laxa #LowLife #IcelandicPostRock #CinematicPostRock #PostRockWithStrings #WallOfSound #DroningGuitar #ChoirTextures #ChurchOrganMusic #StringQuartet #ModernClassical #CinematicSoundtrack #AtmosphericPostRock #IcelandicMusic #InstrumentalPostRock #DarkAtmosphericMusic

Laxá – Low Life | Icelandic Post Rock • Cinematic Post Rock • Atmospheric Wall of Sound

Remember Me

“A sonic journey through the ruins of a city at war, where between sirens, silence, and the longing for peace, a human heartbeat is still sought. A powerful and melancholic track that blends raw imagery with intense emotion, suspended between destruction and hope.”


Bombs fall hard upon my head
Sirens scream, the city’s dead
Missiles loop, homes torn apart
Buildings crash right in the heart
                        
Now there’s peace, above the fire
A fleeting calm, a small desire                
The air smells of iron and flame
The sun shines down, but nothing’s the same, hey!

Only my steps break the empty streets
Echoes of a world that no longer beats
Peace… but how long will it stay?
We chase a heartbeat, then fade away 
(then fade away, then fade away)

I close my eyes just to feel alive
Shut the world down, but the silence survives      
No signal now, where am I to go?
No proof my people, still walk below. hey hey hey!

Now there’s peace, above the fire
A fleeting calm, a small desire.                 
The air smells of iron and flame
Now the sun shines down, but nothing’s the same


China and the red dragon! China and the red dragon! China and the red dragon!

China and the red dragon! China and the red dragon! China and the red dragon!

China and the red dragon! China and the red dragon!

THE LAST SIGNAL

Sometimes you have feelings even while you deny them to yourself and the world.

Veronika

Better and better: Ruff Writher

I don't claim any ownership over any of this. Anyone can use any of it for any reason forever. Also I accept liability. Please don't sue me (and/or let's collaborate).

"Holy fucking shit, this shit is crazy wtf"

"Moments of being passable beyond novelty"

"Very ok"

"Actually slaps"

"Straight art"

"Noise"

```Madlibs with a metronome```

At its core, the blorgpulkf is a pulsating, iridescent orb that thrums with an energy that can only be described as "the sound of a thousand bees having a rave inside a kaleidoscope." It's hypnotic, it's unsettling, and it's strangely addictive - like watching a lava lamp filled with Mountain Dew and gummy bears.

But that's just the beginning. Surrounding this pulsing heart are layers upon layers of... well, your guess is as good as mine. One moment it's a tangled web of neon tubes that hum with an eerie frequency, the next it's a churning mass of what appears to be sentient silly putty. And is that a tiny disco ball I see nestled in there? You bet your sweet bippy it is.

As for its features, the blorgpulkf is like a Swiss Army knife designed by a mad scientist with a penchant for pranks. It's got a button that releases a burst of confetti and the sound of a rubber chicken being stepped on, a lever that causes the whole thing to fold in on itself like a origami crane having an existential crisis, and a tiny compartment that dispenses a single, perfectly spherical grape every 37 hours.

But perhaps the most baffling feature of the blorgpulkf is its ability to communicate. Not with words, of course - that would be far too pedestrian. No, the blorgpulkf speaks in a language all its own, a cryptic code of flashing lights, whirring gears, and the occasional burst of atonal jazz played on what sounds suspiciously like a didgeridoo.




The plorksickle. It's like someone took a fever dream, a Mad Lib, and a Dada art installation, threw 'em in a blender, and hit "puree."

Picture this: a contraption that looks like it crawled out of a Salvador Dali painting and mated with a Rube Goldberg machine. It's got a crank that sounds like a yodeling ostrich, a button that releases a puff of glitter and the scent of existential dread, and a tiny screen that just flashes the word "moist" in Wingdings.

But here's the kicker - every time you think you've figured out what it does, it changes the game. One minute it's reciting beat poetry in binary code, the next it's turning itself inside out and becoming a Klein bottle. And don't even get me started on the time it started oozing a viscous liquid that tasted like the color purple.

Is it a tool? A toy? A sentient being from another dimension that's just really, really bad at communication? Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is, it's the most beautifully useless thing I've ever laid eyes on.

But maybe that's the point. In a world where everything has to have a purpose, a function, a reason for being, the plorksickle is a big, fat middle finger to the very concept of sense. It's absurdity for absurdity's sake, a Zen koan in physical form.

So if you ever see me on the street, cradling this bizarre little gizmo like a newborn lovechild, don't ask me what it does. Just nod, smile, and know that you're in the presence of something truly inexplicable. Something that laughs in the face of logic and spits in the eye of reason.

Better and better: Ruff Writher

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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