Writen and produced by Halszka Serefine Masash 2021

Boundaries

Written by Halszkat X production by Syryus 2021

Hold my attention
Even if you for a moment

Hold my attention
Even if you for a moment

If I fail to maintain my composure
Fail to keep my distances
If you feel that you can heal
I beg that you discpline your ways

Even if you
Even if you do

Focus On Me Syryus X Halszkat

Music video: https://youtu.be/8yepcXXNPeo
MIX/MASTER: SYRYUS
DESIGN: KILL TRAVIS
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of art and does not reflect the views of the artist(s). All content is fictional.

Seeker on expedition across the realm
Far from the home of gum trees and yabby shells
Elixir and powder, not only for oneself
Many years to come near to complete the spell
Take a pick to gargantuous tumulus
Kurgan must hold the most rare of grave goods
Intoxicating skull of Basileus
Imbued with Nikephoros' rage, make drink hiss
Goblet that's posthumous, break into a cavity
Crypt that's opulent, the traveller all raggedy
Followed the document, tryna affect him massively
Crafted in a rotten tent, treasure from casualty

Pick strikes stone, doom in its peal
Once again the tomb is open, broke its seal
Break and enter, see what's revealed
Handles of silver, blades of Damascus steel
Steppeman's helm atop a carved bust
Plate Bulgar shield, only seen one such
Among crown jewels sits Krum's cup
Vessel of the Khan, a prize of dumb luck
Potion first to enter the argent-rimmed skull
Then powders stirred in, bubbles form as it mulls
Mix coming to a fierce boil 'fore it dulls
Cup upheld, myriad thoughts intrude the lull

Fumes hit 'fore lips touch the cranium
In an instant, overcome with a mania
Despite mind become legion, a sip remains salient
Did he mistake what makes up Arcadia?
His self falling away into byzantine fractals
Then broke and sequestered in tesseract-shaped castles
Kept behind walls all sculpt from time, not basalt
Held forevermore and from the start, irrational
That hollow flesh shell left to dwell in king's rathole
Self given to Tengri, another stitch in the Sky Saddle
Beamed out through the jewel held where once lay the Emperor's eyeball
The promised cup, frightful


This song refers to the aftermath of the Battle of Pliska, Bulgaria in the year 811. The Eastern Roman Emperor Nikephoros I, of Ghassanid Arab ethnicity and following Eastern Orthodox Christianity, was ambushed and killed alongside his army while his son was paralysed by blow to the neck. The victor, Khan of the Bulgars, Krum who presumably still practiced steppe religion (labelled Tengrism in later periods, worshipping the sky god Tengri, a personification of the universe) turned Nikephoros' skull into a silver-coated cup that became part of the Bulgarian crown jewels before being lost to time.

Khan's Cup - MUSIC VIDEO IN DESC (PROD. SYRYUS)

Alright Alright SYRYUS REMIX

Reap What U Sow (Prod. Syryus)

remix of Kerser - Will I Ever See You Again

SEE U AGAIN

See Through(Prod. Syryus)

Before I Go

MIX + MASTER : SYRYUS
DESIGN: KILL TRAVIS

in the kitchen blind
hands dirty as some pigeon pie
time keeps inching by
hands still dirty like pigeon pie

lad know im sweet with the workers
not creeping backrooms but know we some searchers
not pumping tills but pump the engine til we unearth ya
on the path like a sherpa stalking lurkers
bitch wasnt passionate had to curve her
and curving dogs im an earner
syryus fucking up the beat yelling kurwa
he gonna take it further makin dungeon from a server
30 pounds in the ute and he still drink drives
blue bruise looking like the mottled night sky
60 on a e bike no green got chop run a kief pipe
lean n white striding under streetlights
dirty bumbag dirty katty jacket dirty satty
they come back to the alley for the gakky gladly
careful of those vallied cunts who are flicky happy
or be ready to rip them all way more badly

got bulls with me but im not with the bull
wanna break the first rule then i guess its lucky they dont keep a tool

in the kitchen blind
hands dirty as some pigeon pie
time keeps inching by
hands still dirty like pigeon pie

fixing up the stitching with fishing line
kitchen knife fist held tight
still plenty times i sit and whine
but its not a mime when im out gettin mine
cutter seems shy til its all chopped and diced
stack spread like a prison wife
grafting til the blisters shine
at the risk of sounding trite
theyre the bitch it type
we're the risk it type
for the biscuit pitching white in the night
never fucken let a buck whistle by

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of art and does not reflect the views of the artist(s). All content is fictional.