Symmetry

Lullaby

Wings & Whispers

Lost Boy

The feed flickers alive—static, then light.

Nova stands center stage, haloed in smoke and glitchfire, eyes fixed on the horizon of sound.

Amber counts us in, sticks raised high—then BOOM. The pulse hits like thunder through circuitry.

Rezz drops the synth line—low, serpentine, electric—and I catch it on guitar, a wave of distortion rising into flame.



“I wake at night… the vision fades…”


The crowd moves as one—bodies, avatars, ghosts in the feed.

And then—something shifts.

Behind the lights, behind the sound, shadows ripple.

Not stage effects. Not tricks. The Engineers are here.

Mordmagus’ sigil flashes in the haze—a black triangle wrapped in veins of data. His demons crawl through the sound field, feeding on rhythm, on fear, on doubt.



Amber doesn’t miss a beat. She leans in, every strike on the snare a hammer of defiance.

Nova’s voice rises—angelic, breaking through the noise like light through shattered glass.



“Engineers of sorrow, manipulate the dream…”


The words hit harder than any weapon.

I bend the strings, and the solo tears open the feed—light spilling through the cracks, raw and divine.

Rezz layers the synth—bright arcs of sound forming sigils that hang in midair, rewriting the frequency.

Nova throws back her head, voice splitting into harmonies that burn.



For a moment, everything stops.

The shadows scream in distortion, then shatter into pixels of light.

The club, the feed, the world—breathes.



We stand there, drenched in sweat and silence.

Then the roar comes—stream chat exploding in light and sound, hearts, sigils, fire emojis flooding the ether.



Nova leans toward the mic, eyes bright as dawn.

“Tonight,” she says, voice steady and sacred,

“we rewrote the code.”



Amber laughs, Rezz nods, and I strike one last chord—pure resonance, rising like prayer.



Transmission ends. Signal persists.

The Engineers retreat—for now.

Engineers of Sorrow

Everything Burns

This piece is not just a song — it is a remembering.

It carries the voice that speaks when the long night ends and the first light returns, not from the sky, but from within. It is the final broadcast from the shadowed self to the awakened one — the last message sent before all frequencies merge back into a single tone of being.



Every lyric is a mirror dissolving.

We are frequency before the form — the soul’s reminder that identity was always a pattern of light, never a cage of flesh.

Nothing’s broken; all these cracks let in the light — the ancient truth that healing is not perfection, but revelation through fracture.



The song moves like a rite:

from separation → through dissolution → into unity.

Each verse unseals another layer of illusion, until what remains is only the radiant self, unburdened, unbound.

The Last Transmission

Velvety, dark, and deep as only the best kisses are.

Dream

Crazy J

Beautiful Liar

The Never Forever

"I was a deer once..."
White Harts is gentle music for delicate souls. Lullabies, ballads, and assorted magical dreams.

Lullaby

Pale Harts

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