OFICJALNA ZGODA - KHHITHHN

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mixed by justwacu

BUG SERVICE 05.2025

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truskawka, malina
wiśnia nie
LYRICS:
I can't piss in the toilet
Can't sleep in my bedroom
There's no food in the kitchen
Can't live in a living room

And then I hear your silent voices
They are all talking about me
Oh doctor doctor can't you see
I'm not the man I used to be

I just can't live any- I just can't live any- 
I just can't live any- I just can't live any- 
I just can't live anymore

Tranquilizers make me nervous
There must be something wrong with me
I never had this feeling before
There must be something wrong with me

And then I hear your silent voices
They are all talking about me
Oh doctor doctor can't you see
I'm not the man I used to be

I can't piss in the toilet
Can't sleep in my bedroom
There's no food in the kitchen
Can't live in a living room

I just can't live any- I just can't live any- 
I just can't live any- I just can't live any- 
I just can't live anymore

I Just Cant Live Anymore (Czarna Porzeczka Mix)

Really enjoying flipping Nurture samples recently. More trance on the way.

Duration: 1m27s
BPM: 160.000
Key: E

Away

RUNNING ON EMPTY

When the fracture split the vacuum, the chrono-compass snapped to 174.
Courier-pilot Saint VII tightened the straps and slid into the seam of the cosmos. Inside, space moved like a staircase: every two beats a new level, every third an ironic wink from fate. Bass wasn’t sound but ore—mined with a swing-pick, packed into crates by layers, tagged with sharp breaks in the pattern so the route wouldn’t be lost.

On the far side waited the black market of gravity. They didn’t sell fuel there, only knots of rhythm: quick punches, toothy wobbles, strobe-lit syncopes—fresh, predatory, a little cocky. Saint VII slices time into slivers, flips the riff mid-flight, throws right-angle turns that leave the time inspectors grabbing a silent bar instead of evidence.

Landing: the platform of the dance floor. Containers open—and orange impulses surge out.
A short hit—“here,” a reply—“there,” the mocking sub clings to ribs and marches the room up a ladder of breaks—every eight bars a new turn, closer, rougher, bolder. Hands rise, air trembles, and time—embarrassed—pulls a reload: the same motif, louder and straighter to the chest.

Galactic Fracture is contraband geometry of rhythm: a raider’s log that brings back not fear from the cracks, but the urge to jump. Every track is a new step, every break a portal, every pause a sight line.
DEEPNAS logged the signal. Saint VII returned intact—so we can dive back into the rift.

Saint VII - Current Value

https://soundcloud.com/honeybunny666

www.rinse.fr/
www.mixcloud.com/RinseFrance/

Rinse France / Before PARKINGSTONE 12 / 22.09.17 / Honey Bunny

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BUG SERVICE 05.2025

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