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not a usual pop song its strange and original have to listen to it not only hear !

I wrote a proof once
In the margin of an old book
It held
It sang in silence
I solved a riddle no one posed
But someone should have
And the page
Bent to my will

I was on a train
Between Oxford
And existential despair
Light flickered. Ink cracked
My coffee spilled
Still, logic marched in perfect rows
Shining
Afraid to be alone

But the margin
Too narrow
For voices like this

I drew your outline
In the corner, soft and hidden
Lines too gentle for names
Wrote a vow, never signed
A plan with no axis
And the paper
Tensed beneath my wanting

Under the station's hum
I footnoted everything I didn't say
Margins full of detours
Echoes of maybe
Each heartbeat struck
A chord I never dared to play

What if the page could break open?
What if the lines ran wild?
Not neat. Not safe. Not approved
But real
Bleeding past every edge

Because the margin
Was never enough
Not for this voice
Not for us

Tear it out
Let the ink run free
We'll write where no lines go

The Margin Was Too Narrow

“Messiah of Shrinking Shores” unfolds like a sorrowful parable — the story of a soul who gave everything, only to be abandoned by both Heaven and Earth. Written in poetic form years ago, the lyrics speak in third person, echoing the voice of someone who once carried the burdens of others, now discarded, worn down, and left with nothing but silence. “The ashtray of God” — a chilling metaphor for spiritual obsolescence — captures the depth of his disillusionment, culminating in the heartbreaking surrender: “Let me sink into the flood.”

This song gives voice to that universal moment when we feel used up, overlooked, and forgotten — when the world no longer sees us as valuable, only convenient. Hungarian vocalist Fati Urbán lends her angelic, haunting tone to these emotions, adding an ethereal fragility that elevates the pain into something strangely beautiful.

Though the song carries the atmosphere of gothic and doom influences, it never settles into one mood. Progressive metal elements weave through its structure — the intro and outro riffs pulse with complex time signatures, and the chorus rides on staccato rhythms that resist collapse. It's both a lament and a protest; a farewell and a final cry for meaning.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

MESSIAH OF SHRINKING SHORES

He clung with nails of wood so tight,
Scratching the fresco-black of night.
Obscured he wrote a gospel’s rhyme, 
Ashtray of God, clandestine grime.

All that he saw, all fails did stay,
No skyey dew would fall his way,
breathing desert dust-eating life,
rotten finger-flesh, he played a strife.

If he was saved, he tore his crown,
blood-stained tears fall, like storm pour down,
showing his fake gloriole,
he will baptize you, he will bury.

And as he climbed the western sky,
the stars within themselves did die,
"Embrace me now, and take my blood” 
said “Let me sink into the flood."

Horror Sacri

Messiah of Shrinking Shores

When every war is lost
And every hatred spent
Some folks will throw a ball
And some will boo
With nothing left to feel & do

Hep hep-hep!

Don't start assumin'
What makes us human

Huh huh-huh
Chet-chet
Hey-ey-ye pom

When I was a child
I did believe, I did believe
In Socrates
And all the Greeks who said that
We could all be good

I sat and smiled
As teachers taught we were the greatest
Fought the hardest
Just to win back
A tiny fraction of what used to be ours

It's understood
The meek & mild must toughen up
When something greater is at stake
A martyr acts
when lemmings leave

No wreaths for cowards!
It took the dying of a world to make it clear
A Holy War rings 
The gold in someone's purse

We did some bad things
But soandso did so much worse...

When every tribe is lost
And all the money spent
Some folks will drown in song
And some will jeer
With no-one left to kill in fear

Hep hep-hep!

Got caught presumin'
What makes us human

Huh huh-huh hek
Chet-chet
Hey-ey-ye pom

I'm still that child
But many reasons and excuses later
I just try to keep afloat without
Kicking my neighbor down

And failing bad
Do I blame the strings that have us tangled
When the strings were made by
Drowners like myself?

What if it's something we can't help?

What Makes Us Human?

Where has my city gone?
Where is my trip in the sun?
Wait, should I have begun?
Got to leave where you're from?

Where is my fantasy?
Where is my hope for much more?
Take your false sliding doors.
I'll hold out for some more.

Out of the valley, alone, into hinterland frozen.
Oh, my arms are wide open.
My horizon is golden.
Off with my head.
As the sun passes over the trees.
I'll ride on the in breeze.
Keep my horizon free.

Where are my city streets?
Where is my blanket for cold?
One day I will be old.
And, I doubt that I'll know.

What can I say?
I'm just drifting around in the sea.
No ideas to seed.
In the absence of need.

Out of the valley, away, into hinterland broken.
All my alms for the poor.
My horizon is sure.
Off with my head.
Down the river; 
Flows on with the leas.
I'll ride on in the breeze.
Keep my horizon free.

Where is my chandelier?
Who'll meet my consumer needs?
An all consuming greed.
All replete with the weeds.

Where is my parquet floor?
What's a designer for?
Me?
Whilst a-wandering free.
I won't move from this tree.

Out of the valley below into hinterlands frozen.
Oh, my eyes are wide open.
My horizon is golden.
Out of my head, as the sun passes over the trees.
Riding on the in breeze.
My horizon is free.

Hinterland

Aries (prod.neverl0se)

Slow to mid tempo track, written, arranged & produced by John Hardman, performed live by Beats Working who are: John Hardman -lead vocals & lead guitar, Chris Glover - drums & percussion, Lynn John Sheppard - Bass & backing vocals, Dave Rea - rhythm guitar and backing vocals.
A Swamp Music production
(c)(p) Swamp Music (UK) & Swamp Records (UK) for all territories.
Original studio recording on Putting It About album with artwork by Tristan Greatrex.


Putting It About

Achin' Heart live

Achin' Heart live - Beats Working

A 90s new man called Stan -The Future Dweller (funky & chunky refix)

Here we go again.
There are dark days in England.
The lady at the bus stops off her head.
Least that's what she said.
No rest for the wicked.

Ah! here we go.
With the painted flags of England.
The devil that is screaming in her brain.
She was never the same.
Needed a merger.

One for the live.
One for the sanity.
Into the crowd.
Into the slaughter house.
One for the road.
One more to take away.
In the fun house. 
Where you are blown away.

Dark days, they're stealing them from you.
Dark days, you'll never make it through.
Dark days, you can not get away.
Dark days, we're falling in the rain...

Let's have a drink.
There's nothing to look up to.
You can not save enough for rainy days.
No route of escape.
A fog of returning...

The lips are calming down.
Whilst the tattoos multiplying.
There's money to be spent here in the hay.
What for I can't say.
A sense of belonging?

The crowd are going wild.
The crowd are consuming.
The crowd are all so normal and so safe.
I feel out of place.
I do not belong here.

Regardless of love,
Regardless of empathy.
Godless and lithe.
Godly with vanity.
Regardless of time.
Regardless of anything.
Godless with pain.
God, will you let us be.

Dark days, they're stealing them from you.
Dark days, you'll never make it through.
Dark days, you can not get away.
Dark days, we're falling in the rain...
 

Dark Days

You Gave me Butterflies

Guitars, Vocals, Keys, Bass and Lyrics by Robert Grigg
Drums by Jim Dooley

YouTube link:
https://youtu.be/_jGh8Ogz7nk?si=0Auca4Fsu5FAVnl2

Raise Your Hands

Bad Memory

I’m Hanna Horn. I’m 24. I make music. Streaming on all platforms.

Bad Memory

Hanna Horn

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