Numb

DARK DELTA BLUES MIXED WITH RAP, WHAT ELSE SHOULD I SAY

HUNG FROM THE INSIDE

Revenants of the Lowground

A haunted transmission begins...

[The Story]
They rise where the light dies.
In the shadows of the swamps, where banjos fork off like dark veins and the mud still hums with memory – the Blues Revenants return.
Born from static, rusty but never silent, they travel through high-voltage lines, feeding on forgotten frequencies.
From the old riverbeds to broken radios, their sound crawls into every speaker, every socket, every pulse.
Not a resurrection. A reckoning with today.
This is the original blues – rewired and alive, now echoing through your own static line.

[The Invitation]
This is the first interactive blues-rock album of its kind.
Selected tracks come in multiple shapes – raw cuts, looped edits, recharged versions.

You decide which ones survive.
Like your favorite version. Help it climb.

Your vote carries the hum into the world.


Revenants of the Lowground

Ghost on the Grid

Save Me from Myself

La Espuela

SayNoMo

Ⓒ 2025 @PlsDntChase.
All songs, beats, lyrics and recordings are protected under Australian copyright law and officially released through River Run Cartel.
Licensed for distribution with DistroKid and other major platforms.
Unauthorized use, uploads, or bootlegs will be removed and pursued.
This is real copyright, real label business—no exceptions. 🦘ᴮʸ ᴾˡˢᴰⁿᵗᶜʰᵃˢᵉ

Dont Chase The Grave

Buck Fitty

Thirteen chapters of silence, iron law, and cold ambition.
No mercy, no witness, no forgiveness — just bounce, bloodlines, and i-i-ice.
Every track a scene, every line a sentence.

Ghost

[Intro]
Been studying the walls 
Paintings in rusted blood, 
Claims carved in ink 
Lampblack mixed with tears, 
A dream made of stolen dreams.

Whole surface stained yellow from tobacco smoke. 
Pinned pieces of torn love letters, 
Some unopened, still in their envelope 
those that never made it home 
Keeping them sealed felt like hope, 
Might just make it back home.

[Verse 1] 
Taped newspaper clippings, 
fading photographs, paintings on canvas What am I still missing? 
Scrolls in papyrus, ancient tablets made out of clay, 
Still paying for the debt, 
been compounding for longer than we know.. 
I see the shape of cities and nations, 
But deeper than the walls I see

[Hook] 
Cracks in the foundation, 
I unearthed the skeletons you buried so deep 
they became stone, rather than decay 
their bones now speak.

[Verse 2] 
Casting lots, betting on bones 
Meanwhile The mummified remains of your ancestors remain brittle, a single touch they return to dust will never be known.
strange, what you deny and will not face, will not die. 
Living nor returned to life. 
Death is not death; to live means you will die. 
Don't mistake the temple 
For what it holds inside. 
Don't mistake the sight for the eyes 
Your vision did not make the horrors you see. 
Let them bear witness, let them grieve.

What if that's not how I speak? 
I'm learning the voice I wield has to come from me— 
Same excavation, different bones. 
I spend most days suspended, 
Insulated in the only place I've ever 
Felt free to be me. 
Survival or burial? 
Can't tell anymore. 
Can't smile when I don't feel happy, 
Feels like betrayal to lose 
The pieces I still love and hold of me.

[Outro]
So I keep studying these walls,
Every mark a choice:
What to bury, what to speak,
What to let turn to stone,
What to bring back to bone.
The foundation cracks were always there—
Just painted over, sealed tight.
Now the walls can't hold
What was never meant to be kept.

Excavated

Grumple

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                       ＲＩＶＥＲ｜ＲＵＮ｜ＣＡＲＴＥ L             
                  𝓓𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 • 𝓜𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓬 • 𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓵 • 𝓒𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮.  
                                   - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -