This is the song of an entire house singing the House of Horologue, a name it bears not by birth but by fate, a name I have given it. The song is about a house in mourning. Not simply decayed by time, not merely abandoned, but tainted—forever altered by something heinous that once occurred within its walls. A house where something dreadful took place, something so monstrous that it cast a shadow long enough to outlive its victims and its perpetrator alike. And for that, the house is now seen as cursed. Haunted, even. But who cursed it? Who judged it? We humans move from one place to another as if shelter were a set of clothes to be changed and discarded. But houses do not move. They remain. They endure. I’ve always liked to think of houses as alive. Not in the way we are, perhaps, but alive all the same. Their fireplaces are their hearts. Their creaks and groans, the weary speech of age. Their silence, the language of suffering.

This song nearly fifty minutes long is the sound of such a heart speaking. The heart of the House of Horologue. Speaking not with words, but with the memory of footsteps that never returned, of screams that once pierced its chambers and were never answered. It is a heart that has held in its cavity the cold bodies of the dead, killed not by time, but by a monster a real one, not metaphorical. A man, perhaps, but worse than one. Because of what happened there, the house was condemned by men, spit upon, shunned, spoken of in hushed tones. As if it had been complicit. As if walls could murder. As if stone could seduce evil. No one remembers that the house stood there long before this person came. It stood in peace, quiet and unnoticed. It had sheltered lives. It had held warmth. It had been loved, perhaps not deeply, but honestly. And when the monster left, the house remained. Alone. With nothing but the memory of blood. It remained as it always had. And perhaps that is the tragedy not that it suffered, but that it had no choice but to remain. No escape, no sleep, no death. I believe we all know houses like this. We’ve passed them by. Some of us have lived in them without knowing. We have felt a chill in their hallways and blamed the weather. But it was the sorrow of something that cannot speak, cannot explain, cannot ask for forgiveness it doesn’t owe. This song is for them. For the houses that watched terrible things happen within their walls. For the houses that carry shame that is not theirs. For the ones that still stand, quietly, despite everything.
This is the song of the House of Horologue.

Fireplace in the House of Horologue

Erosion

This is my introduction to the world of House of Horologue, which is an upcoming concept debut record by me. This is not part of the record, but a track to set the mood overall. I would like to talk about House of Horologue before I talk about this song. The House of Horologue is not merely a setting it is a character. It is a house in mourning. Not simply aged or abandoned, but permanently marked by something dreadful that once transpired within its walls. Something monstrous happened there something so unspeakable that it outlived the victims and the perpetrator alike. And for this, the house has been cursed by reputation, whispered about, shunned. But the house did not ask for this. We pass through homes as if they are disposable skins, but houses remain. They do not move. They bear witness. Their silence is a kind of suffering. I’ve always imagined houses as alive perhaps not as we are, but alive nonetheless. Their fireplaces beat like hearts and their stillness carries sorrow.

This particular house, before its condemnation, had once been warm. It had offered shelter. It had been loved not perfectly, but truthfully. Then came the event that ruined it, and though the perpetrator left, the house remained. Alone. With memory as its only company. And perhaps that is the deepest tragedy not the suffering itself, but the fact that it had no escape. No way to die. It simply endured. I believe many of us know houses like this. We have walked past them. Some of us have even lived in them without knowing. Felt the chill and blamed the cold. But perhaps it was grief, speaking in the only language it knows. That is the heart of House of Horologue. A place marked not by its crime, but by its endless, wordless endurance of it.

Now, about the track by the title alone, you can probably tell that it centers around the killer of the House of Horologue, the one who truly gave the house the name it never deserved. This piece takes place five decades before the events of the record itself. It’s meant to serve as a tone-setter an unsettling introduction to the world the album inhabits. In this track, we witness the killer within the House of Horologue committing the very sins that would haunt the structure forever. There is one voice the killer’s woven clearly through the composition, and six more belonging to the victims. Their presence flickers in and out through the whole track. At the core of the track lies an 18-line poem, repeated endlessly beneath the surface. I believe it was written by the killer himself. But it’s buried so deep within the layers of sound that unearthing it becomes almost impossible. I drew heavy inspiration from the works of Luc Ferrari and John Cage when creating this piece. My goal wasn’t to make something traditionally listenable, but to conjure a mood, an atmosphere, a kind of dread that sets the stage for everything that follows. I wanted the track to feel like a haunted place in itself alive with memory, heavy with guilt.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for stepping into this world with me. This is only the beginning.

LYRICS:

The killer is me.
The killer is me.
The killer is me.
The killer is—
The killer is me.
The killer is me.
The killer is meeeee.

The killer.
The killer.
The killer.
The killer.
The killer.

The killer is me.

The killer.
Killer.
Killer.
Killer.

With me.
With me.

The killer is me.

The killlll...

The Killer of the Horologue House 𓂀

Everything suffers
even the stillness bleeds.
Suffering blooms
where nothing speaks.

Aldebrand The Reverberant

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