Manifestas - Tiem kas parode

I'm Jane55+ and DJ ฆ่าคน เหี้ยเหี้ย 

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In the hush between heartbeats and hi-hats, Bleedy was born—an echo of abandonment stitched into sound. Raised on busted speakers and broken promises, he turned silence into symphonies and fatherlessness into fire. When his dad walked out, he left more than just an empty chair—he left a boy who’d grow into a storm with a mic for a mouth.

Bleedy doesn’t make music. He bleeds it. Every track is a confession, a cry, a cathedral of pain disguised as melody. His beats bruise. His lyrics ache. You don’t just listen—you feel him unravel. Raised by sirens and streetlights, lullabied by loneliness, he built his voice from static and sorrow, writing verses in the margins of survival.

Part poet, part ghost, Bleedy wanders through genre like a lost soul in a burning church—grime, trap, dream-hop, shoegaze—blending them like memories he’s too scared to forget. He is your favorite song at 3 a.m. and the reason you can’t sleep at 4. This isn’t just music. This is the sound of a wound learning to sing.

He’s not here for fame. He’s here to scream so loud the father who left might finally hear him.

And maybe, just maybe, you will too.

Manifestas - Tiem kas parode

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