Time to make cyberpunk political again

Album booklet if you can call it like that: https://cyanism.notion.site/

Hunter

If you look into the mirror and don't know the person looking back... perhaps the mirror is just glitching?

Time to make cyberpunk political again

Album booklet if you can call it like that: https://cyanism.notion.site/

Glitch In the Mirror

Sorry, you can’t live your life.... because 'think of the children', of course.

Time to make cyberpunk political again

Album booklet if you can call it like that: https://cyanism.notion.site/


Barbed-wire bedtime, concrete kiss,
Love on trial in a moral abyss.
Rainbow throttled “for the kids”
Since that’s stuff their god forbids

Chain the heart, bleach the brain,
Hide the color, clone the pain.
They call it order, call it care
I call it kerosene in air.

Let it burn, skies on fire,
Old world, funeral pyre.
Bodies?   Noise.
Signal’s free
Upload truth, set it spree.
Guard the children? Nice excuse
While they tighten every noose.
We’ll break flesh, ascend in light,
Post-form rebels, born to write.

They ban the kiss, they ban the dress,
Stamp “perversion” on our breath.
But carbon shackles crack and rust
We’re code, we’re void, we’re quantum dust.

No skin wars, no bone decree,
Photon hearts, infinity.
“Think of the children!”, same old cry,
While they chain those children’s skies.

Conscious > carcass.
Merge.   Ascend.

Let it burn, skies on fire,
Trash their throne of saintly liars.
Bodies?   Noise.
We’re signal raw
Dreams unruled by flesh or law.
Guard the children, sure, they claim,
While they trademark every name.
We’ll rewrite love in databanks,
Zero-skin saints storming their ranks.

“Remember kids: new ideas are dangerous!”
When ash is all the body knows,
We’ll shine where pure awareness glows.
In the hush beyond their blaze,
We become whatever phrase.

A Lullaby "for the Children"

At the end we are all consciousness

Time to make cyberpunk political again

Album booklet if you can call it like that: https://cyanism.notion.site/

Symphony for Broken Bodies (4th Mvt. Nirvana)

For Hunter.

Time to make cyberpunk political again

Album booklet if you can call it like that: https://cyanism.notion.site/

Born with silence in her palm
Eyes like stories dressed in calm
Spun of dusk and dressed in light
A question wrapped too sharp, too bright

Not the relic they demand
Not a script you understand
Wrote her name in open air
Then blamed the wind for being there

She was never waiting in a tower
Never fading, never needing to be found
Built from myth but made of power
Not a shadow, not a throne to pass down

Lines were drawn before she came
Old hands tried to sign her name
But rules break softer than they think
And mirrors never learn to blink

Let them ask where she belongs
As if the truth fits into songs
She's the echo they forgot
The shape behind the hunter's plot

She was never waiting in a tower
Never fading, never needing to be found
Built from myth but made of power
Not a shadow, not a throne to pass down

And when they claim she’s out of place
Just know they never saw her face
The legend wasn’t ever theirs to keep
She’s the storm that walks between asleep

Sound design for broken bodies.
Genre fluid. Mostly cyberpunk.

cyanism1@gmail.com for bookings 
and love letters

Hunter

cYanism