I Am The Abyss

neon prophets

(Oooooh…)
Thin wind, slow rain,
ghosts drift over the stones.
(Oooooh…)

Cold sea hunger,
white bone tide.
Frost and feather,
salt-worn hide.
The green leaf fades,
the petals wane.
The moon forgets,
and names the pain.

(Ahhh…)
Lost beach dreaming,
nothing replies.
Desolate voices,
low and wide.

Only the sea.
Only despair.
The rain wind sings —
and I am there.
(Ooooooh…)
Only the sea.
Only despair.
The rain wind sings —
and I am there.

Grey gull shadow,
thin and high.
The otter gone,
the heron dry.
At the edge,
wet rocks gleam.
A bitter shore,
a broken dream.
(Ooooh yeah…)

Throats whispering,
through the wind.
Weeds like hair,
where stars begin.
Lonely surf,
its crumbling roar.
Time like hunger,
asks once more.

(Oooooh…)
The tide sighs low.
The day grows bare.
The leaf is gone —
and I am there.
(Ahhh…)

Only the Sea

Fields of bones beneath the grain,
Ghosts still work the southern chain.
Smoke from cities, blood in rain,
Dollar signs tattooed with pain.

Bright clean flag waves above the barn,
Dreams embalmed in the graveyard.
Gold runs slick down the preacher’s sleeve,
Truth’s a wound you can’t believe.

American Maggot — chew and grow,
On the body you don’t know.
The light went some wars ago,
But the TV swears it’s a morning show.

American Maggot — hum that hymn,
Of rust and oil and seraphim.
You wear the crown, the rot, the sin,
And call it a resurrection.

Steel and shadow, glass and gun,
Children coughing in the sun.
ICE vans crawl where the workers run,
Freedom limps — the laws undone.

Church bells ring, don’t cure all,
All the empires learn to fall.
Blessed are these blind and numb,
Who burn the Earth for their kingdom come.

American Maggot — creep and feed,
On every broken prayer and creed.
The scar’s the only vote you need,
Waving on as the country bleeds.

Somewhere under Wall Street’s floor,
History whispers, “Never more.”
The gangrene won’t heal, it just keeps score —
While the Maggot eats the core.

American Maggot, Reprise

She came talkin’ honey,
But it stung like bath tub gin.
Said, “You’re the one, baby,”
With a heart that was halfway in.
She smiled like summer,
But the nights stayed cold.
It’s funny how a promise
Can spoil before it’s old.

Don’t you go mistakin’
Salt for sugar, child.
Sweet words taste good
But fade in a little while.
If she wants to love you,
She won’t need no cue.
When a woman means stayin’,
She’ll show it, and prove it to you.

You set the table for two,
But you’re eatin’ alone.
The light’s still flickerin’,
And the wine’s half gone.
You tell yourself stories,
Like the faithful do.
But you know that if she wanted —
She’d already be next to you.

Don’t you go mistakin’
Salt for sugar, child.
Sweet words taste good
But fade in a little while.
If she wants to love you,
She won’t need no cue.
When a woman means stayin’,
She’ll show it, and prove it to you.

You can pray for a message,
Stare stupid at your phone.
But the truth walks quieter
Than the lies you’ve been told.
Love don’t beg for timing,
It don’t hide in disguise.
It’s simple as the sunrise —
It either shows or it dies.

Don’t you go mistakin’
Salt for sugar, child.
Life’s too short
To beg for something mild.
If she wants to love you,
She’ll make it plain to see.
Real love don’t whisper,
It roars like the sea.

Salt for Sugar (Memphis Mix)

The lamp throws gold across the floor,
Your shadow’s halfway out the door.
You say it soft, caress my skin,
But your eyes don’t know the bed they’re in.
Love ain’t the word, it’s the way you cling
Like winter begging back the spring.

Don’t go easy, don’t go kind,
There’s mercy in pretending sometimes.
You ain’t reaching for forever tonight,
Just the warmth that feels right.
It’s the ache that speaks what the heart won’t say.
Stay anyway.

The kettle cools, the walls don’t care,
Two cups of silence, one empty chair.
You trace my sleeve with shaking hands,
But touch can’t build what time can’t span.
Behind your breath truth hesitates
A whisper trembling at the gates.

Don’t go easy, don’t go kind,
There’s mercy in pretending sometimes.
You ain’t reaching for forever tonight,
Just the touch that holds you tight.
It’s the ache that speaks what the heart won’t say.
Stay anyway.

The dawn crawls in through the window frame,
You’re still here, but won’t say my name.
Love’s a word you hide away,
You can’t speak its truth in the light of day.
We lie quiet, half alive, half gone,
Waiting for something that never comes.

Don’t go easy, don’t go kind,
There’s mercy in pretending sometimes.
You ain’t reaching for forever tonight,
Just the tongue behind the bite.
It’s the ache that speaks what the heart won’t say.
Stay anyway.

Stay Anyway (Lush Mix)

Steam curls off the morning cup,
Kitchen clock won’t shut up.
You stare at the chair like an old routine,
The window fogs with what might’ve been.
You don’t reach for the sugar jar
You drink in the quiet, thinking how things are.

It’s a black coffee morning,
Still dealing with the blow.
You nurse that cup like it still holds hope.
It’s not the caffeine that makes your hands shake
Love’s ghost don’t die, it circles the ache.

Her raincoat hangs by the back door,
You sweep the floor ’til your back gets sore.
Neighbors wave like the world’s moved on,
You find yourself still humming her song.
There’s rain on the sill, the floorboards creak,
You stir your thoughts while the kettle leaks.

It’s a black coffee morning,
You sip on sorrow like it’s all you know.
You keep holding what you ought to let go.
It’s not the caffeine that keeps you awake
Love don’t end clean, it just slips away

You pour another, can’t taste the heat,
The bitter burns, tastes like defeat.
The mouth remembers, the heart tries to forget —
Every swallow stirs the old regrets.
She’s gone, but still inside your skin,
Like the dark brew you keep letting in.

It’s a black coffee morning,
And it’s bruising you slow.
You warm your hands on what you ought to let go.
You’d rather drink pain than drink the air —
Cause the empty don’t love you, or answer your prayer.

Black Coffee Morning

You came on smooth, like whiskey slow,
Said all the right things low.
Showed the kind of sweetness
That makes a tooth ache grow
Your touch was fine liquor,
But the aftertaste told the truth —
Some sugar turns bitter
When it no longer soothes.

I may want you, baby,
But that don’t make you mine.
You shine like a promise,
But you sting like moonshine.
Yeah, you’re pretty as trouble,
But my heart’s learned to see —
Between the wanting and the needing,
Only one lets you breathe.

You whispered midnight poetry,
But your words were made of lies.
You had that preacher rhythm,
But no gospel in your eyes.
You moved like thunder rolling,
And I wanted to be rain.
But I won’t sell my peace
To feel that kind of pain.

I may want you, baby,
But that don’t make you mine.
You shine like a promise,
But you sting like salt and lime
Yeah, you sing in the wrong key,
And my heart’s learned to see —
Between the wanting and the needing,
Only one sets you free.

Now the morning’s clear and quiet,
No cologne smell in these sheets.
The air feels clean again,
Like a sinner’s found release.
You were heat and danger,
And I won’t curse your flame —
But I’ve seen how it ends,
And I won’t play that game.

I may want you, baby,
But that don’t make you mine.
You shine like a promise,
But you sting like sea brine.
Yeah, I’ve walked through your fire,
But I still believe —
Between the wanting and the needing,
I found what’s left of me.

Between the Wanting and the Needing

We been fighting ‘bout nothing, baby,
And that ain’t nothing new.
Arguin’ through the night ’til the morning light,
Thunder lookin’ for a storm to roll through.
There’s dinner in the oven, lights still on,
And silence thick as glue.
You say you’re beat, but I see that spark —
I know what you wanna do.

Baby, take your time with me,
Ride me slow and sweet.
Let’s talk in tongues ’til the neighbors wake,
And the angels lose their sleep.
This ain’t forgiveness, baby,
This is fire and blues and truth.
You read my skin like scripture
And I still sing for you.

You came home late from somewhere,
Your alibi half-spun.
Said the city kept you longer,
But that story came undone.
I ain’t mad, I’m just tired of ghosts
And the way your eyes still roam.
But when your hands start reaching, baby,
Any doubt I had condones.

Baby, take your time with me,
Ride me slow and sweet.
Let’s talk in tongues ’til the neighbors wake,
And the angels lose their sleep.
This ain’t forgiveness, baby,
This is fire and blues and truth.
You read my skin like scripture
And I still sing for you.

We got sirens out our windows,
And smoke in every word.
Our bodies crack, old vinyl records —
Scratched but still can be heard.
The streetlights lean in listening,
To hear how bruised hearts mend.
We trade our hurt for rhythm,
While you take my breath again.

So lay me down, don’t speak a thing,
Let rhythm have its say.
We’ll make our peace with sweat and sound,
And find our prayer that way.
This ain’t redemption, honey,
It’s a promise tried and true.
You read my skin like scripture
And I still sing for you.

I Still Sing for You

Salt for Sugar (Kansas City Mix)

You said love was a light that don’t go out,
But I lived too long in the shadow of doubt.
I tried to fix what was breaking in me slow,
But some things die in the seeds they sow.
Your arms were warm, your words were kind —
But I lost my shape trying to match what you defined.

Don’t say I stopped loving you,
That ain’t always what walking away means to do.
I just learned the truth I couldn’t betray —
The longer I stayed, the darker my days
Love ain’t always the place you rest,
Sometimes leaving’s how you love yourself best.

Your coffee cup still on the sill,
Steam long gone, but the ache sits still.
I scrubbed your name off every wall,
But the silence kept whispering through it all.
I packed my bags quiet, like a prayer unsaid,
A goodbye that hurt more than what you said.

Don’t say I stopped loving you,
That ain’t always what walking away means to do.
I just learned the truth I couldn’t betray —
The longer I stayed, the darker my days
Love ain’t always the place you rest,
Sometimes leaving’s how you love yourself best.

You’re a ghost that time won’t chase,
Still lingers soft in every empty space.
But peace don’t grow where pain still feeds,
And hearts need more than a love that bleeds.
I ain’t bitter about you, just tryin’ to be free
And find the woman you couldn’t see.

Don’t say I stopped loving you,
That ain’t always what walking away means to do.
I just learned the truth I couldn’t betray —
The longer I stayed, the darker my days
Love ain’t always the place you rest,
Sometimes leaving’s how you love yourself best.

The Longer I Stayed (Reprise)

Between the Wanting and the Needing (Lush Mix)

Elemental Vol. 1 moves through earth, air, fire, and water not as metaphors but as emotional states. The songs drift like weather systems, mixing tenderness with atmosphere - acoustic guitars and field-warm vocals meeting the pulse of understated techno rhythms. The production is deliberately porous: wood and wire breathing alongside soft synths and spectral drum-machine traces. It's an "acoustic techno" album in the sense that rhythm and resonance share the same dirt. The songs carry the physical textures of wind in rafters, gravel underfoot, or rain on a roof, yet they shimmer with digital light. This meeting of folk intimacy and electronic timbres gives the album its peculiar gravity - part back-porch confession, part after-hours heartbeat.

Lyrically, Elemental Vol. 1 abandons conventional pop architecture. Instead of verse–chorus–bridge repetition, each piece unfolds as a field poem - free-form, continuous, and responsive to its own inner weather. The writing treats structure as tide rather than grid: refrains return when they need to, not when they're told to. This openness lets the language breathe in sync with the natural imagery that drives it - storms, light, stone, silence - and invites listeners to inhabit the songs as evolving spaces rather than predictable forms. Across the various mixes of its six song poems - We Learn the Sky, Don't Sightsee This Heart, Be a Storm in Me, Til the Heat Is Gone, You Happen Like Weather, and Wild Gifts - the album traces the cycles of intimacy and impermanence, finding in their motion the same quiet power that turns seasons, wheels, and hearts.

Don't Sightsee This Heart (I)

You Happen Like Weather (I)

Be a Storm in Me (IV)

Check out the music video!
Lyrics:

I feel the current under my skin
A quiet river, it pulls me in
Your eyes are oceans, wide and clear
They hold the truth we’re meant to hear

No noise, just the sound of our hearts aligned
A fragile thread in the hands of time
We’re more than flesh, we’re light in disguise
Hold this moment, don’t let it pass by

Breathe with me…
Like the earth beneath our feet
Like the moon that moves the sea
Breathe with me…
In the silence, find release
In your touch, I’m finally free

I taste the sunlight, soft on your lips
A sacred whisper the cosmos gifts
We are the echoes of every soul
Together fractured, together whole

No rush, let the stillness unfold our name
The world dissolves, and it feels the same
We’re more than shadows of what we’ve been
This is where the healing begins

Breathe with me…
Like the earth beneath our feet
Like the moon that moves the sea
Breathe with me…
In the silence, find release
In your touch, I’m finally free

All the cities, all the skies
Every stranger holds the light
All the faces, all the pain
Love connects us just the same

Breathe with me…
Through the dark and endlessly
Through the world’s complexity
Breathe with me…
Every soul a symphony
Every breath infinity

Breathe With Me

Elemental Vol. 7 continues the journey begun in Vol. 1, returning to the meeting point of nature and circuitry where country becomes techno and techno becomes country. The project carries forward the Elemental idea — that music, like weather or landscape, isn’t a metaphor but a living force that moves through us.

The sound remains tactile and porous: guitars still breathe, synths still shimmer, but the pulse runs deeper now, steadier, like groundwater finding its course beneath open fields. The arrangements move between organic drift and machine precision — footstep and kick drum, heartbeat and bassline — tracing a quiet dialogue between wilderness and pattern. It’s not fusion so much as coexistence: a music that sounds both handmade and algorithmic, campfire and circuitry, soil and signal.


I'm Trouble Again

Elemental Vol. 9 continues the journey begun in Vol. 1, returning to the meeting point of nature and circuitry where country becomes techno and techno becomes country. The project carries forward the Elemental idea — that music, like weather or landscape, isn’t a metaphor but a living force that moves through us.

The sound remains tactile and porous: guitars still breathe, synths still shimmer, but the pulse runs deeper now, steadier, like groundwater finding its course beneath open fields. The arrangements move between organic drift and machine precision — footstep and kick drum, heartbeat and bassline — tracing a quiet dialogue between wilderness and pattern. It’s not fusion so much as coexistence: a music that sounds both handmade and algorithmic, campfire and circuitry, soil and signal.


Quieting the Day

Dark Cabaret, Vol. 1 is a séance for machines, bodies, and ghosts that never stopped performing. It lives somewhere between the gutter and the stage — a fever-dream city where the bars hum in trip-hop time, the circuses burn, and the jukebox keeps spinning cracked vinyl long after last call.

Each track is a small theatre of survival. The rhythm crawls slow and narcotic; beats pulse like faulty neon; melodies sway with the weariness of dancers who’ve outlived the applause. The stories move through smoke and rain — bartenders pouring fire instead of faith, wire-walkers hanging whole crowds on a thread, street preachers soldering sermons out of broken circuits, lovers reading the scars on each other’s skin like sheet music.

The sound is cabaret after the collapse: trip-hop basslines and downtempo electronica draped in dust-bowl brass, cracked-piano chords, and whispered confessions. It borrows from vaudeville, gospel, and film noir but speaks in the language of feedback, reverb, and rust. Every groove is haunted by the same tension — between flesh and circuitry, performance and decay, faith and fatigue.

These songs inhabit the ruins of spectacle. They ask what remains when glamour corrodes and holiness shorts out — when all that’s left is the pulse, the hiss, the breath between verses. Dark Cabaret, Vol. 1 is that breath made audible: an after-hours communion for the wired, the weary, and the beautifully broken.

Clockwork Girl (B-Side)

Cloud-gap, moon-cracked sky.
Neon splits colors through rain.
Drunk monk builds his altar
from parts of a busted crane.
Chrome-jaw saints
blink blue in a strobe.
The preacher’s tongue
a copper load.

He wipes motor oil from his palms,
dips two fingers into faith.
Anoints his head with axle grease—
(a-men) —
then sees what he made.

Machine don’t sleep,
it whispers his name.
Choir of wires —
a gospel proclaimed.
He shouts the Word,
feedback loops out pain.
Scrapyard dream machine,
got God on the brain.

Streetlight eyes shine
on wet concrete.
He downloads forgiveness,
hands out code to meat.
Girl in glass heels
juggles coins for sin.
Her eyes say (hallelujah) —
then she begs again.

He swaps her pulse for a prayer,
battery sparks on skin.
Signal cuts the noise —
(static) —
skulls light up from within.

Machine don’t sleep,
it whispers his name.
Choir of wires —
gospel unchained.
He shouts the Word,
feedback loops out pain.
Back alley dream machine,
got God on the brain.

Circuits twitch, old sins unstained.
Crosses spot-welded to rust and chain.
He cranks the dial on the choir —
crowd repeats the refrain.

He spits chants in the mic.
Echo screams, squeals, bleeds.
Bouncing off the walls,
makes a cave from their needs.
Machine, priest, congregation —
shadows dance in the steam.

God Machine (B-Side)

Body Stories (B-Side)

Heat welds gum to the sidewalk, lipstick smeared on chrome,
Marquee grins like bad teeth, silk legs on loan,
He sleeps in his car with a guitar and a rearview shrine,
Maps folded on dead ends and a tape deck coughing time.
Streetlight flickers like breath in a drowning lung,
Agent on the corner saying, Kid, you’re too young.
But the mirror shows every unpaid mile,
And the lines all rehearsed like a man on trial.

Headshots pinned like bugs under glass,
Smiles stapled to a future already past.

Welcome to Palm Row, where your name stains tar,
Gold melted down, pawned for a shot of fame.
Each star chaser, another canceled show
Knees split open in the promise glow —
Palm Row.

Cheap motel halo buzzing red and blue,
Perfume masking sweat and last night’s cue.
She paints her mouth like a wound on fire,
Says Hollywood don’t love, it just hires.
Sirens glow on streets slicked hard with sin,
Couple in the diner trading dimes for skin.
Burnt script ash on cracked tile floors,
Smoke slipping out through the back door.

Billboards mock like a final blow,
Looking down on the broken dreams below.

Welcome to Palm Row, where the night chews shine,
Silver screen lies on dotted lines.
Every heartbeat a debt you owe,
And the rent comes due down Palm Row.

Welcome to Palm Row, where angels learn to rust,
Sequins in the gutter, diamonds in dust.
You chase the light till your ribs go cold,
Left out of breath on Palm Row.


Palm Row (Dead End)


Blood and Bone is a reckoning set to rhythm—an album built where the body meets myth, where memory scrapes against metal, and survival grows teeth. Its sonic palette threads drum-machine pulse through dust-bitten guitars, twang through circuitry, and flamenco flicker through industrial grit. Every track lives in the tension between ruin and insistence, between a world that shakes with fire, violence, wind, and destiny, and a narrator who keeps stepping forward anyway. The project treats rhythm not as a backdrop but as a heartbeat you can almost hear splitting, mending, and refusing collapse.

Across this landscape, the human form is battered, unmasked, hunted, resurrected, and set ablaze—but never surrendered. The music leans into acoustic grain, the sweat-salt of live strings, the grit of surf twang and outlaw twine, yet plants those textures in a scaffold of relentless electronic precision. What emerges is a bruised hymn to endurance: techno carved out of earth, alt-country scorched into myth, psychobilly swagger sharpened by war and weather. Blood and Bone doesn’t seek redemption so much as it chronicles the cost of staying alive when the elements, the mountains, the inner voices, and the gods all stare back—and demand a response.


In the Dark

Blood and Bone is a reckoning set to rhythm—an album built where the body meets myth, where memory scrapes against metal, and survival grows teeth. Its sonic palette threads drum-machine pulse through dust-bitten guitars, twang through circuitry, and flamenco flicker through industrial grit. Every track lives in the tension between ruin and insistence, between a world that shakes with fire, violence, wind, and destiny, and a narrator who keeps stepping forward anyway. The project treats rhythm not as a backdrop but as a heartbeat you can almost hear splitting, mending, and refusing collapse.

Across this landscape, the human form is battered, unmasked, hunted, resurrected, and set ablaze—but never surrendered. The music leans into acoustic grain, the sweat-salt of live strings, the grit of surf twang and outlaw twine, yet plants those textures in a scaffold of relentless electronic precision. What emerges is a bruised hymn to endurance: techno carved out of earth, alt-country scorched into myth, psychobilly swagger sharpened by war and weather. Blood and Bone doesn’t seek redemption so much as it chronicles the cost of staying alive when the elements, the mountains, the inner voices, and the gods all stare back—and demand a response.


The Storm Wants In

Black and Burning Air

A Stranger Found You

Storm-wet pavement,
Rain drips down her boots,
Lip-smudged vape pen,
Gasoline perfume bloom.

She rips the tape off her ribs,
Mascara streaks like roadkill oil,
Leather jacket, busted zipper,
Bike lane grin, back lane loyal.
Black lace caught on barbed wire,
Sweat-salt on her neck
Chain-hiss engine idles behind her—
Her breath ignites the dark like a fuse

Bite of copper on her lips
Anger in her knuckles rising—
The night leans in, hungry to bruise

Diesel Angel, she lights the match,
Boot heel crushing last regrets,
Silhouette in the streetlight glare,
Halo scorched, but never bent.
Gutter Angel, she hits the throttle,
Ash-kissed hair in open flame,
Crowd of ghosts behind her crying—
But she never turns to cool their shame.

Foam-slick beer on the pool table rail,
He watches her cue crack bone-clean,
Jawline stubble lined with rust,
Hands nicked up from a midnight scene.
She leans in, breath like molten sugar,
Boot tip hooks his belt loop tight,
Tongue tastes whiskey off his collar—
DJ digs in his crate for a longer night

Bassline pulse runs through her back
His hand locked on her leather sleeve—
Her kick slams the speakers like a fight

Diesel Angel, she lights the match,
Boot heel crushing last regrets,
Silhouette in the streetlight glare,
Halo scorched, but never bent.
Gutter Angel, she hits the throttle,
Ash-kissed hair in open flame,
Crowd of ghosts behind her crying—
But she never turns to cool their shame.

Alley steam curls up her thighs,
Tattoo ink hot beneath the tongues,
Silver chain pulled taut at her throat,
Heart beats hard between the lungs
She bites his ears, leaves a stripe,
Teeth shine violent as a flare,
Sirens smear against the skyline—
and she kisses him raw as they stare

Sweat fog dancing from floor to glass,
Exhaust desire, body to frame—
She drags the moon down by its hair

Diesel Angel, she lights the match,
Boot heel crushing last regrets,
Silhouette in the streetlight glare,
Halo scorched, but never bent.
Gutter Angel, she hits the throttle,
Ash-kissed hair in open flame,
Crowd of ghosts behind her crying—
But she never turns to cool their shame.

Steel breaks steel,  they run from the crash
Candles burning, wax melts slow,
Boot heels pressed against the fractured chrome—
Her final smile blows the city to ash


Diesel Angel (Chrome)

Diesel Angel (Crash)

Cold Math is a ledger you can feel in your ribs: tracks where melodic rap carries the hard arithmetic of survival, and blues pours the emotion that numbers can’t hold. The album lives in that split-second math of the street—rent due, phone dead, hunger loud—where every choice has interest and every mistake compounds. Over sirens, neon, and concrete sermons, the hooks arrive like oxygen: not pretty, not polite, but honest enough to keep the chest moving. This is music about being “boxed in, cornered by design,” and still finding a way to stand ten toes down without turning your soul into spare change.

But the “cold” in Cold Math isn’t just the world—it’s the clarity you earn when you stop bargaining with reality. Across these songs, the narrator evolves from counting losses to balancing the ledger: looking around at a pixelated life, owning contradictions, cutting doubt out like a bad wire, and building a ladder out of the void one bar at a time. The blues shows up as bruised tenderness under the grit; the rap shows up as precision and nerve—proof that persistence isn’t flex culture, it’s breathwork. If there’s a thesis here, it’s simple and relentless: not survival of the fittest—just the struggle for existence, and the refusal to be erased.

Look Around

You Live Once (East Side)

Parking lot haloed in sodium glare,
beer foam drying on my sleeve.
Your laugh ricochets off dented sedans,
a spark jumping cables in my chest.
Chain-link fence chews the moon in half,
we move in the frame of the security cams.
Your boots drag gravel into rhythm,
Jaws clenched on something unspoken.
(Night leans in, smelling blood and flame)

We don’t knock—we break the hinge,
coats split, grip slick, knuckles singe.
Sweat slides hot down collarbones,
eyes cut like hard metal in throats.
(The feedback makes one long scream)

We bite back in the floodlight,
bare teeth, no apology.
Hands up, hearts out, lungs on fire—
the ground shakes because we’re still standing.
We bite back in the floodlight,
let it burn our names clean.
If the roof comes loose tonight,
we go with it—screaming, undefeated.

Outside smells like perfume and raincoats,
someone’s elbow kisses my ribs hard.
Your mouth tastes like copper and mint,
words are lost as the bass creeps in.
Glass singing cracks under all the boots.
Bottle games shattered after they spin
Fists rise, in the air find their roots—
no one here is innocent.
(The street caves in, gravity picks a side)

Monitors bleed, thin wires pulled tight,
I catch your grin through the strobe—
every smile comes with a knife inside.
bodies ram into bodies, no one in control
(The moment snaps, bright and violent)

We bite back in the floodlight,
bare teeth, no apology.
Veins on fire, ears blown wide—
every new hit rewrites history.
We bite back in the floodlight,
let it scorch our skin.
If the walls start breathing smoke,
we want it louder, ready to dive in.

Alley steam blows from a sewer mouth,
Hear the popo coming from blocks away.
Lipstick smeared like a dare on your cheek,
Can't tell the difference between shaking and laughing.
Soaked shirts cling like clothes aren't needed
We lean against brick warm from the dance,
My throat is raw, but still hungry.
The sirens ring louder than the amps.
(High on watching the wreck we made.)

Streetlight stutters, tags us twice,
buzz-count verdict: real tonight.
Tomorrow is a killer, cold, precise,
It keeps its distance—not in this fight
(We're here to beat fear to death)

We bite back in the floodlight,
bare teeth, no apology.
Scars fresh, spirits loud—
the noise is a second home to me.
We bite back in the floodlight,
let it brand us free.
If the dark wants a piece of us,
It's gonna choke if it tries to touch me

(Mic squeal bleeds into open air,
drums fade like a pulse sun setting.
We walk off ringing, hot dripped, alive—
lights dying behind us, but never forgetting.)


Bite Back (Sabotage)

Morning hits the glass too hard,
White light flaring my eyes.
Your cup still sweats a ring on wood,
Cold like you just stepped outside.
The room keeps your memory wrong—
Too quiet where you were.
The cat moves once, then settles back,
Like it almost heard.

You’re not gone—
Just out of frame.
Still here
In the shape of things.
Not gone—
Just elsewhere now,
Like heat that hasn’t lifted yet.

The street growls with early trucks,
Pigeons snap the day awake.
Your jacket hangs with your shoulders in it,
A wardrobe prop waiting for another take.
Time doesn’t break or move ahead,
It idles in the light.
Every sound arrives half late,
Everything’s mid-flight.

You’re not gone—
Just out of frame.
Still here
In the way I stand.
Not gone—
Just off to the side,
Like a hand I almost take.

If I turn, you might be there.
If I don’t, you’re everywhere.
In the pause before a name,
Another breath blows out the flame.
No ending sound.
No closing door.
Just thinking of where you are.
Like the sun behind a cloud—
Same time of day leaves a different mark.

Afternoon thins into long shadows,
Dust floats slow and bright.
Staring at the ceiling fan,
As it turns without a sound.
I don’t just miss you—
That’s too clean.
I adjust my weight instead.
The floor still knows how you move,
Every corner echoes what you said

You’re not gone—
Just out of frame.
Still here
Where nothing's the same.
Not gone—
Just not right now,
Like a wave before it breaks.


Not Gone (Night)

The Hard Earth Hexology moves through pressure rather than release. Its songs are built around what people learn to hide—history, grief, complicity, desire for control—and the way those forces continue to act even when they are denied. The writing treats emotion as a physical condition: weight in the body, tension in the jaw, ground underfoot that refuses to shift. Rather than offering confession or resolution, the voice in these songs observes how systems of belief, authority, and intimacy operate quietly, often through tone, silence, and habit. What is suppressed does not disappear; it adapts, resurfaces, and follows. Memory behaves less like narrative and more like geology—layered, compacted, and capable of breaking through without warning.

Sonically, the album sits at the intersection of propulsion and restraint. Rhythmic drive borrowed from electronic music pushes forward while guitars carry grit, twang, and abrasion, grounding the sound in land, motion, and human friction. The genre blend is not decorative but structural: surf and psychobilly tension, blues and country endurance, and techno repetition all serve the same purpose—momentum under pressure. These songs are less about rebellion as spectacle than resistance as posture: staying upright, refusing erasure, and choosing rough edges over polish. The series does not argue or persuade. It stands, listens, and waits, trusting that what holds its shape long enough will eventually be felt.


Myk Eff Records

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