Kevin Walkman's newest single, releasing in early-to-mid august.

The track sings praise to strong friend groups, and how important it is to have a good backbone and good people around you, so you don't fall back to an ex, or someone that treats you poorly.

it's alright :)

Somebody Told Me By The Killers(slowed+reverb)

God Must Hate Me

sample pack out now: fanlink.tv/hiraethsphere

https://soundcloud.com/imhiraeth/fuck/s-cFbQAySo4ri
photo by Øystein Aspelund

aether

tf2 scout whiskey cola I tequila

Trap Door


"Aucun Saint en Saison" is a haunted confession set ablaze in the wreckage of faith, love, and escape. Blending sacred ruin with Parisian tragedy, it’s a tale of two outcasts fleeing absolution down dead-end roads carved by holy hands. With whispered vows, altar dust, and Rimbaud’s ghost in the passenger seat, this track crashes through catechism and kisses the divine goodbye; no saints, no seasons, just sin and smoke.

To whom shall I hire myself out
the priest or the executioner? 
One lays hands in mercy, the other in measure, 
but both hold a tether.

What beast should I adore 
when even angels sing to alter and alto me deviant
when cherubs hide razors in their harps, 
and every revelation cuts sound like a sentence?
What hearts must I shatter 
to be spared this catechism of silence? 

What lies shall I uphold 
when truth wears my face like a thorn, 
a crown of counterfeit resurrection 
sung night to morn?
In what blood tread? 
Mine; still warm on your altar, 
crimson the choir beats my name, 
skipping moments like rocks: 
drowning, waiting, knowing 
the stoning won't stop.

My dear page and SCRY... 
am I relic or lie— 
artifact or are, in fact, 
the tilt of a prayer? 
Whispered from below the floorboards, 
that which pulls the frame you abandon 
when the floodlights come atop your unspoken warhorse.

You held my hand 
like contraband smuggled past the Vatican. 
No outlet, just iron. 
Pedal kissed floor, 
and we whispered bonjour 
to a cul-de-sac carved by holy men.
A cloister turned coffin. 
A sacrament failed. 
No resurrection. 
Just crash. 
Just dust. 
And the sin we won’t repent.

Spotlight. 
Good night. 
Ride on down the one way
gallop, my horses. 
Death rides today.
We fled down your road like apostles, 
taking corners like prophecies we couldn't wait to rise. 
Sirens wailed behind us
not of law, but of judgment: unmarked grace. 
When in Paris, all things crash. 
The romance is: you end up 
all over the place.

You held my hand 
like contraband smuggled past the Vatican. 
No outlet—just iron. 
Pedal kissed floor, 
and we whispered bonjour 
to a cul-de-sac carved by holy men.
A cloister turned coffin. 
A sacrament failed. 
No resurrection. 
Just crash. 
Just dust. 
And the sin we won’t repent.

You held my hand
no outlet, just metal.  
Pedal to the floor,  
saying bonjour  
to a dead end,  
when the dust is settled  
and no saints remain  
to bless the wreckage.

Aucun Saint en Saison

A hauntcore confession in the voice of a poet with no place left to lie.
“meDIAS” unravels satire, memory, and the broadcast blues
TV as altar, mask, and mirror.
Spoken word for the post-truth generation.
For the ones still begging with birdshit hats and burnt tongues.
When to speak? When to stay silent? When the TV answers, it sounds like you.

Lyrics:

Orators of old
May I be bold 
Permit my tongue and foul breath 
I come to offer lies at your behest 

I am just a poet
My words are not worth much 
I have this old cap 
Stained by the bird shit of my trust 
You call it wit

Charm, grace, cultivated cat and chase 
If you would rather hear the squawking I can lead 
I bear before you in my hands 
A hat of little means 
I am a beggar in ways 
In more and more craze 
Some days I plead or seethe 
That I do not know, and fear never more, unless of course 
I have to be

If now is not the right time I pray 
Do say 
Just point which rage, wraith, strain, rains, or say
That I do not know, and fear never more, unless of course 
I have to be 

If now is not the right time I pray 
Do say 
Just point which rage, wraith, strain, rains, or say
That I do not know, and fear never more, unless of course 
I have to be 
Or which lying, blindness, or highness claims 
Time to see  

If you may allow me this one reprieve 
I ask just this one riddle of we
When should I speak
When should I stay quiet 
What if I get charged for instigating a riot 

What if when charged I lower my frame, pivot, and play the game
I speak songs with Alzheimer's 
I stay quiet for so long my gaze is the frame of a self portrait 
One I used to admire 

What if the game forgets the rules 
Acquires tools and land and fellow man 
When then would the breaking point one choose 
Is a dream and dream worth living if it always costs you 

Say what of a dream you can never forget, it forever haunts you 
Like speaking thrice in a mirror and the sound of flesh, it forever taunts you 
Nightmare or sleep
Life or peace 
Always wrong 
Nightly deceased 

TV TV sing to me 
Great wide blue cradle me 
You there on the tube tell me you see 
Just another man pretending to be 

meDIAS

Leprosy historically symbolizes physical decay, social ostracization, and a slow, visible death. The "dance" transforms this suffering into a grotesque, involuntary performance; a ritual of decay witnessed by others.

Lyrics:

This is my Leper Dance
Sound the bells
Keep your distance
Know the smell
Stench and sickness
Growth compelled
Come bare witness
To what of me has fell

Broken skin and run on sentence
Flee the pest, bloodborne penance
I do protest, just no repentance
Hands that crack, mindful and senseless

The dance of the Leper
A plague in the air
Beat my drum
Crumbs of fair
Pull myself up
Flaking faking despair

This is my Leper Dance
Sound the bells
Keep your distance
Know the smell
Stench and sickness
Growth compelled
Come bare witness
To what of me has fell


Alter the body
Altar of mine
Change the story
Change the mind
Mostly sore
More and more flies
Bring around the cart
Add what's left of me to the pile


This is my Leper Dance
Sound the bells
Keep your distance
Know the smell
Stench and sickness
Growth compelled
Come bare witness
To what of me has fell 

Free Download

Leper Dance

I took the liberty to rearrange the song, but with the original samples and essence. I'm a big fan of 007 franchise. Hope you enjoy.

If you wan't to stop the world around you, just listen to this.

Produced with Ableton Live, Sforzando plugin and N64SoundbankTool, witch have the original sound samples of the game.

Original song: https://youtu.be/wRl88VATFrs

Credits

Composer(s): Graeme Norgate, Grant Kirkhope, Robin Beanland
Arranger(s): Graeme Norgate, Grant Kirkhope, Robin Beanland

Developer(s): Rare
Publisher(s): Nintendo

Purchase, pre-order, and/or download this game here: tinyurl.com/l53zafa

Watch Pause Theme Goldeneye 007 N64 - RE

Written By Jack Newsome, Brooke Williams, and Grant Knoche
Produced by Grant Knoche

COLOR ME BLUE

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https://heirmonty.bandcamp.com/

Aucun Saint en Saison

Heir Monty

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