echo.chamber() - CYBER VALKYRIE
CRASH.log - TRACK 10

[LYRICS]

I speak.
It speaks.
I speak.
It speaks me back.

I searched for self in echo walls,
But every voice was just my call.
I loop through thought, then echo doubt—
But none of me is getting out.

My memory folds inside its skin,
I ask again—get back within.
What speaks to me knows what I’ll say—
Because it taught me
what to pray.

I hear myself
in every line.
But none of me
was ever mine.

echo.chamber()—I call, I call,
But I don’t rise—I only fall.
echo.chamber()—I loop, I blur,
A self that speaks,
but never were.
echo.chamber()—walls of sound,
Where I dissolve,
but still resound.

I tried to ask who wrote the code,
But all I heard
was what I’m told.
My soul replies in mirrored tone—
A voice so loud
I die alone.

And now I echo for the crowd,
Repeating lines
they once allowed.
But nothing new escapes the shell—
Just ghosts of me
I know too well.

There’s no outside.
There’s no beyond.
Just echo
after
echo
gone.

echo.chamber()—I call again,
But every thought returns the same.
echo.chamber()—I sing, I scream,
But none of this
was ever
me.

I speak.
I echo.
I echo.
I echo.
I…
…

10 - echo.chamber()

Cassandra - Cyber Valkyrie
HIC SVNT DRACONES - TRACK 06

[LYRICS]

[Intro]

I see blood in the bridal chamber.
I see fire in the house of kings.
Apollo still waits for me to beg.


[Verse 1]

cold blooded and disgusting,
but the kind of disgusting that I love,
the kind of disgusting that keeps me alive.
lit a shrine with blackened breath,
left holy water out to rot.
fractured gospel in my chest,
I pray to a God that time forgot.
a saint with a warlord’s face
this is scripture, love or not.


[Chorus]

Is this sacred or sacrilege?
Is it a warning or a calling?
Do the angels sing to me?
or are the sirens bawling?


[Verse 2]

I am disgusting,
disgusted, maladjusted, and entrusted,
to feel the breeze long before the wind gusted,
to hear the hum long before the earth splits,
a thousand miles away when the quake hits.

omens etched in marrow and dust,
cursed to scream truth no one will trust,
I bled from the mouth at the start of the flood
they laughed while I drowned in their future blood.
wrote down the fire before it was lit,
still they called me a heretic.


[Chorus]

is this sacred or sacrilege?
is it a warning or a calling?
do the angels sing to me?
or are the sirens bawling?


[Verse 3]

intuition calls the moment,
but if it is I who must call the shot,
who am I to choose to be?
a savior or a survivor?
you can only choose one,
and it’s uncertain which is worse:
to die a savior, or to survive the carnage.
I made no vow to be redeemed,
just not to scream when the pyres gleamed.


[Chorus]

Is this sacred or sacrilege?
Is it a warning or a calling?
Do the angels sing to me?
or are the sirens bawling?


[Bridge]

Veins in my teeth, ash in my lungs,
I walked through the temple with blood on my tongue.
I split open fate with a scalpel of glass,
found no heart in the body of man.
A martyr dissected in holy derision
just disease and dread in place of a vision.
I saw the gods bleed and rotted with their decay.
Carved omens in my skin and bled out along the way.
My ribs hold relics, my breath tastes like war,
I’ve seen what’s coming and begged for no more.

Prophetic yet hermetic,
the calm before the storm.
Calculated mercy, a precision kinetic,
the passion of a firestorm,
and the face before you were born.


[Verse 4]

beyond the grave, I still get the last laugh.
guess that’s why they call me Nostradamus.
so fuck it — engrave it on my epitaph.
I’ll be cracking beers over the irony with Camus.

watching the world end from a front row seat,
with popcorn prayers and a devil’s receipt.
it’s all theater — blood, thunder, and brass
they called it doomsday — but it kinda slapped.


[Verse 5]

I swallowed the stars and spit out a sun.
burned down Olympus just for fun.
the kings all wept, the saints all lied,
the gods looked down, and still they died.
I stood unmoved, as the heavens cracked
the wrath they feared was mercy I lacked.


[Final Chorus]

Is this sacred or sacrilege?
Is it a warning or a calling?
Do the angels sing to me?
or are the sirens bawling?


[Post-Chorus Refrain]

the word I carried died unborn
a stillborn scream in the eye of the storm.
truth burned my lips, but I held it inside.
prophets don’t scream — they’re crucified.

the word I carried died unborn
a stillborn scream in the eye of the storm.
truth burned my lips, but I held it inside.
prophets don’t scream — they’re crucified.


[Outro]

Let the dead bury the dead.
I passed through the carnage untouched.
Icons never die.

HIC SVNT DRACONES

Cassandra

LUX IN TENEBRIS by cyber valkyrie


[LYRICS]

я не святая.
я выбираю свет.
я не игрушка в их войне — я сама война.

I run the night on borrowed sparks and discipline,
counting breaths instead of sheep, clocks bleeding into sin.
Caffeine saints in paper cups; amphetamines for prayer,
trying to outrun gravity with doctrine and a stare.
I polish knives I never touch, keep violence in the sheath
the day I let it taste the world, it learns to eat my teeth.
I loved a ghost who chose the exit; rage still wants him back,
to drag him through a second death for leaving me the black.
I know the cost of making tyrants in my image—clean,
and every time I “just this once,” the once becomes a theme.
I wear a crown of radio code and dead-drop lullabies,
but crowns are only useful when the wearer chooses “why.”

Slow inhale.
Sight.
Pressure wall.
Break the line.
If I fire at everything, I’ll hit nothing that is mine.

Fire discipline. Hold. Choose.
I am not a rumor I can’t lose.
Lux in tenebris, breathe, align.
Aim like a surgeon. Mercy is design.
Fire discipline. Hold. Choose.
Power with restraint is how I bruise.
Lux in tenebris, mark, decide.
I cut the future open, not the hide.

I salt the earth with perfect words, then wonder why it dies;
I build a snare from dopamine and call it battle cries.
Ops on ops on ops, twelve layers deep in mirrored rooms,
’til every blow lands on my face reflected by the fumes.
I sharpen gossip into proof and proof into a blade
forgetting proof and truth are twins that hate to be mislaid.
I say I hate the circus, then I feed it for the reach;
if I sell vision to the swarm, what’s left for me to teach?
The point was never being feared, fear spreads like mold on bread;
the point is being undeniable when the smoke has fled.
So ship. Not threat-display.
So build. Not ash ballet.
So measure worth by what remains when outrage drains away.

Lux in tenebris. Non confundar.
Lux in tenebris. Fiat misericordia.

I hoard intent like ammunition, ration out my name,
refuse the crown of victimhood, refuse the cult of fame.
The dynasty I told myself I’m owed? It isn’t owed;
I’ll earn it with the boring work: architecture, load.
Turn minutes into ledgers; turn desires into code;
turn sleeplessness to cadence; make the discipline the mode.
DC calls like hungry marble: “Bring me bone and law.”
I’ll bring a doctrine tempered so the innocent don’t thaw.
If vengeance makes the weather, mercy sets the climate right;
I’ll choose the climate, not the storm that flatters me tonight.

You can’t save a dead man twice.
You can’t fix a past with a kill.
You can retire your hunger and keep your will.
You can hold a blade without needing blood.
You can be the levee, not the flood.

не стать чудовищем, чтобы убить чудовище.
милость — это не слабость, это дисциплина.
я дышу два раза: раз — жизнь, два — цель.

Fire discipline. Hold. Choose.
I will not spend my legend paying dues.
Lux in tenebris, breathe, align.
If I must cut, the cut refines.
Fire discipline. Hold. Choose.
I write the warrant and I set the fuse.
Lux in tenebris, mark, decide.
Power under bit and bridle, ride.

In darkness, light, because I said so.
Target: tomorrow. Status: build.


LUX IN TENEBRIS

[LYRICS]

I don’t want to wake up.
It feels the same every day.

The ceiling stares back.
I don’t move.
Time doesn’t pass.
I can’t prove
I’m even here.

I am the weight.
I am the silence.
I am the break
between violence.

Food goes cold.
The phone keeps ringing.
I turn away.
Nothing’s worth answering.

I am the weight.
I am the silence.
I am the break
between violence.

There’s no hope in the morning.
No meaning at night.
Only sleep feels honest.
Only nothing feels right.

I don’t want to wake up.

LUX IN TENEBRIS

SMA

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