Lanternbones

[Verse 1]
How do you say I love you
When you know they’ll look away?
When the moment’s passed, the door is shut
And words just float astray?
How do you shout I love you
When it echoes back as shame?
When silence hugs the air so tight
You’re scared to speak its name?

[Chorus]
So I hold it like a secret
Buried deep beneath my skin
A truth too loud to whisper
But too sacred to give in
If I say it—will it vanish?
If I don’t—will it remain?
How do you say I love you
When it only brings you pain?

[Verse 2]
How do you say I love you
When the one you love won’t hear?
When “I miss you” sounds pathetic
And “I’m sorry” feeds their fear
How do you still keep hoping
When the facts all say you can’t?
When you’re dancing with delusion
But you never learned to plant?

[Chorus]
So I hold it like a secret
Carved in pages I don’t send
A prayer I tell the night sky
That will never reach its end
If I scream it—will it cheapen?
If I write it—will it fade?
How do you say I love you
When there’s nothing left to say?

[Bridge]
Why do words mean more to some
And to others just feel light?
Why does love become a burden
When it once had given flight?
Why does pain become a prison
When it only wants release?
Why can’t we just say I love you
And let that be our peace?

[Final Chorus]
So I sing it through the silence
In a song you’ll never hear
But it’s all I have to offer
And it’s all I hold dear
If I never say I love you
Know it still beats in my chest
How do you say I love you
When your heart won’t let it rest?

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How Do You Say I Love You (When It’s Already Too Late)

I'll take you to a place where everybody knows your name

Little Moth
pages in clouds 2025

hide,





the,

tv,





its,



distorting,



her,

mind,


she,,,,
wants,




to,

build,

a,

new,

world,

made,

from,,

metal horses....

She's been,

struggling, 



for,


a while now,



Poor thing,



Poor thing,


hooooooo,

Poor little moth,


nooooo,
wayyyy,
out,


this ,
time,



its ,
all,
going,
so dark,

now,


ohhhh,
poor thing,


pb2025

Little Moth

A slow-burning, intimate confession from the perspective of a man who loves through possession and pain. Acoustic-driven and darkly poetic, The Sadist explores the sacred violence of surrender, devotion, and emotional dominance. Calm, spiritual, and quietly terrifying. Inspired by the writings of Avsolen.

The Sadist

Lyrics 

I remember sitting at that wooden desk one spring
Your weathered hands traced circles on the board
About the way that water moves through everything
While outside, rain was falling, largely ignored
You turned to face the class with fierce intensity
That made us all sit straighter in our chairs
"The world," you said, "is not our property"
And something in your voice caught me unaware


Your words that day changed everything I knew
Now I see the world the way you do


You brought a jar of soil and poured it on your palm
Explaining how each handful holds a universe
Of creatures keeping all our systems calm
The food chain's not a chart, it's something worse
You showed us photographs of melting polar seas
And spoke about the bees that didn't return
I watched you plant a seedling by the maple trees
And waited after class, now desperate to learn


Your words that day changed everything I knew
Now I see the world the way you do


Twenty years have passed, I'm teaching science now
Standing at my own board, drawing water's flow
When students ask me why I care so much somehow
I hear your voice still teaching what I know


I take my classes out to touch the morning dew
And watch their faces change just like mine changed
When understanding breaks and something deep and true
Connects them to this earth we've got to save
The passion in your lesson echoes through the years
As I pass on the wisdom that you shared


Your words that day changed everything I knew
Now I see the world the way you do




Earthwise - REMASTERED - HD

Lyrics:

Sometimes I wish that you could hold me tight
Sometimes I wish you’d never grow so tired
Of hearing me say how much I want you
Or even watching me fall like a fool
With you I always felt what it’s like
When everything seems to trap me inside
A broken vessel I can't find an escape
Afraid of words I’ll never get to say

Why do I miss you?
I miss you
I miss you
Oh...

I know it happens every time I think of you
But I can't help but think of all that we've been through
I lost control over my heart and want it back
Before the lies and hope take over my head
With you I always felt what it’s like
When everything seems to trap me inside
A broken vessel I can't find an escape
Afraid of words I’ll never get to say

Why do I miss you?
I miss you
I miss you
oh...

Why do I miss you? (prod. by dandarmawan)

A Field I’ll Return To

BITTERSWEET LONGING

I went to Alaska in winter, not for an adventure—
but because I didn’t want to be alive anymore.
I thought maybe if I disappeared into the snow, no one would have to find me.

Over 300 planes have gone missing or crashed in Alaska. I found one of them when I was ready to vanish—and it made me want to stay

And I wouldn’t have to explain.

It was so quiet out there. No cell signal, no noise. Just wolves in the distance.
I hadn’t seen another person in days when I found it—a plane wreck, buried in the snow.
Half-sunken in a drift, broken open like it had been forgotten by time.
The fuselage looked like a ribcage. The cold had softened everything.

Inside, there was no blood. No bodies. Just rust and frost.
But it felt… inhabited. Not haunted in the scary way—
Haunted in the holy way.
Like the people who’d been there hadn’t left completely.
Like the wolves were keeping their memory safe.

I didn’t touch anything. I just sat there in the snow.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to vanish.
There was something beautiful about how the wreck hadn’t been erased.
How the forest just held it. How the silence wrapped it gently.

I thought:
Maybe the point isn’t to be saved.
Maybe it’s just to be witnessed.
And maybe the broken things—like planes, like people—don’t have to be thrown away.
Maybe they just rest. And become part of the evergreen.

That’s where Ghosts in the Evergreen came from.
A song for what’s been lost. And what quietly chooses to stay.

Ghosts in the Evergreen

“I Talk to Satellites” is a love song born in a lonely October.
We didn’t meet on purpose. We weren’t looking for anything—just trying to feel a little less alone.

It started with kindness. A comment. A message.
We sent each other photos of clouds. Talked about tea and music and grief.
I never saw their face. But I felt seen.

This song is for the people who’ve met someone through the glow of a screen—
who found connection in a username,
who typed out their truth to a stranger
and slowly realized they were being heard.

Two years later, we’re still together.
And I still think kindness is a kind of signal.
Maybe even a kind of God.

I talk to satellites

Lanternbones is a hymn for the ones who carry light in the places that broke them. It drifts through ghosted memories and quiet strength, where every bone is a lantern—glowing not despite the darkness, but because of it. With ethereal textures, hushed vocals, and echoing harmonies, it feels like walking through a forest of what-ifs, guided only by the glow of what you survived.

“My Life Inside the Tree Rings” is a song about memory—
the kind that doesn’t live in words, but in time, silence, and survival.

It’s about leaving behind everything you knew,
starting over in a place where no one knew your name,
and realizing the past still lives inside you—
etched gently, like rings inside a tree.

I wrote this thinking about all the lives we carry quietly.
The storms we don’t speak of.
The scars that don’t ask for attention.
And how even if we forget… something always remembers.

There’s a map inside the tree rings.
It’s not always easy to read.
But it’s honest. And it’s yours.

My Life Inside the Tree Rings

Coldplay’s Ink always left something open—like a letter never finished, or a name whispered into the wind. It felt like heartbreak without blame. Like trying to trace someone who was never yours to hold.

Ink on the Wind is my answer to that ache.

Where Coldplay sang about chasing someone through time and maps and memories, I wanted to write about letting go. About what happens when you stop running and just watch the wind carry what’s left.

This song is for the words we were too scared to say.
For the names we never stopped writing in the air.
For the love that didn’t vanish—just drifted.

It’s not about getting them back, but letting them go because that’s what they need.

Ink on the Wind

Ash and Ember is not a phoenix story—it’s something older, wilder. This track carries the heat of grief, the smoke of memory, and the quiet rage of rebuilding. It’s for anyone who was told they were ruined when they were really remaking themselves. No perfect rise. Just roots that held through fire, breath that stayed through smoke, and a name no one could take.

A dream pop confession in flame and silence—where the forest doesn’t burn down, it becomes something else entirely.

Ash and Ember

this apathy will kill me

Chaque morceau est une pièce d’un labyrinthe intérieur, chaque personnage un masque tombé dans le puits. L’Âne Flûte n’est pas un autre. Ni le corbeau. Ni le roi des rats. Tous parlent d’un même lieu, d’un même cœur fendu par les années, par le doute, par l’épuisement d’être. Ce projet est le récit d’un seul être qui s’est éparpillé pour mieux se rassembler.

Il a fallu deux années pour oser cette traversée. Deux années à visiter chaque recoin de la caverne : la peur, l’égo, la honte, la colère, mais aussi la lucidité, l’éclat d’une étoile dans la nuit, les murmures d’un espoir sans nom. C’est une cartographie de l’âme, un théâtre peuplé d’ombres qui sont toutes un seul corps.

L’intelligence artificielle n’est pas une coquetterie ici, mais un choix essentiel. Elle sert à ôter la voix de l’auteur pour révéler la voix de l’œuvre. Ce n’est pas lui que l’on écoute, c’est ce que ça dit en lui, et peut-être en chacun. La musique devient alors canal, les voix des archétypes, et l’auteur, un passeur anonyme qui délègue l’incarnation pour que l’essence passe sans entrave.

C’est un opéra intérieur, un carnaval de symboles, un murmure d’enfant vieux.
Un seul être se cherche — dans mille visages.

14-Un silence

Kristen Banana writes songs like whispered confessions. True, raw and honest. 
Dream pop, emotional alt, and soft-spoken hauntings from a life rewritten more than once.
Survivor of violence, survivor of silence, believer in the glow of the soul. 
Not here to shine—just to stay.
🕯️ ethereal. powerful. honest.
New album Lanternbones and Ghosts out August 1 on all streaming services. Listen early on SoundCloud.

My Life Inside the Tree Rings

kristen banana

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