“I Heard You” is the sound of a heart finally cracking — not from the silence, but from the noise that followed. It’s about the moment you realize they did hear you… they just didn’t care enough to stay. Raw, restrained, and bitterly honest, this track digs into what’s left after all the shouting stops.

This is for the words you said that didn’t change a thing.
This is for every “I’m sorry” that came too late.

i-heard-you

“The Words I Needed” is a confession dressed in scars. It’s not about what was said — it’s about everything that wasn’t. The apologies that never came. The comfort you begged for in your head. This is the ache of waiting for something you know will never come.

If you’ve ever stared at your phone, begging for a message that never showed up — this one’s yours.

the-words-i-needed

you’ll-see

“Let Me Be Broken” is a raw confession — a quiet plea to be seen in the wreckage instead of rescued from it. With haunting melodies and aching lyrics, this track explores the beauty in admitting defeat, the strength in surrender, and the grief that lingers in the spaces no one else can reach. Inspired by the emotional depths of I Prevail and the atmospheric honesty of Nothing More, this is for anyone who’s ever needed permission to just fall apart.

let-me-be-broken

“No More Me” is the sound of identity collapsing in on itself. It’s not just about loss — it’s about becoming unrecognizable to yourself after carrying too much pain for too long. With haunting vocals, cinematic tension, and heavy emotional textures, this track echoes the breaking point between who you were forced to be and the person underneath, clawing to get out. It’s for anyone who’s ever looked in the mirror and seen a ghost staring back.

no-more-me.mp3

“Trigger Words” is a fuse waiting to blow. A track about how a single sentence, memory, or tone of voice can crack open every wound you’ve ever tried to bury. It explores the razor-thin line between calm and chaos — how one phrase can send you spiraling, and how hard it is to stay grounded when your nervous system is stuck in survival mode. With gritty vocals, and cinematic pressure builds, this song is a raw portrayal of emotional landmines and the battle to take your voice back.

trigger-words

“People Like Us” is a defiant anthem for the outcasts, the survivors, the ones who grew up in silence and found power in their scars. It’s for the kids who were never protected, the adults who were never understood, and the voices that never fit inside clean, easy narratives. With heavy-hitting riffs, raw vocals, and lyrics carved from lived pain, this track doesn’t ask for space — it claims it. We weren’t made for this world, but we’re still standing on cracked ground — together.

people-like-us

“Still Me in the Mirror” is a quiet unraveling — a song for the moments when you barely recognize yourself but can’t look away. It’s about identity splintered by trauma, the slow erosion of self-worth, and the haunting realization that even in your lowest form… you’re still you. With chilling ambiance, vulnerable vocals, and a stripped-down intensity, this track lives in the tension between who you were, who you pretended to be, and who’s left when the mask finally cracks.

still-me-in-the-mirror

Let Me Be the Villain is the turning point — the moment the survivor stops apologizing. Fueled by betrayal, gaslighting, and a lifetime of being misunderstood, this track flips the narrative: if you’re going to cast me as the monster, then I’ll roar louder than your lies. It’s a blistering anthem for anyone who’s been blamed for the pain they didn’t cause. Dark, cinematic, and defiant — this song doesn’t ask for redemption. It demands power.

let-me-be-the-villain.mp3

Unread Messages is a song about everything you wanted to say but couldn’t. It’s for the texts typed out at 2AM, the paragraphs you backspaced, and the hope that maybe — just maybe — they’ll feel what you meant, even if they never see it. It’s loneliness framed by blue bubbles and red receipts, the quiet devastation of being almost heard. This is heartbreak in the digital age — where ghosts don’t haunt halls, they haunt inboxes.

unread-messages.mp3

“You Had No Clue” is a raw, emotionally charged anthem that blends aggressive defiance with trauma-fueled revelation. It’s about realizing someone never actually knew you not your past, your pain, or what you were surviving yet they acted like they did, and used that ignorance as a weapon. It’s a song for the moment you reclaim your identity through fury instead of apology.

You had no clue

“Bite My Tongue (Till It Bleeds)” is the sound of someone finally snapping after being silenced for too long. It’s about the years spent holding back—swallowing your pain, minimizing your truth, keeping the peace for people who didn’t deserve your silence. But now? The dam breaks. The song is a controlled burn of fury, grief, and self-liberation. Every line is a cut from a tongue that’s bled long enough.

Bite my tongue (Til it bleeds)

“Fracture Code” is about the exact moment your breaking point becomes a weapon.

It’s not subtle, it’s not a cry for help — it’s a cold realization that the version of yourself they wanted to control is gone, and what’s left is calculated chaos. It’s for when you’ve tried to hold yourself together, tried to be the peacemaker, the stable one, the loyal one — but now you’re the detonator, and the mask is shattered.

Fracture code

“Never Yours to Kill” is a blistering anthem of reclamation — a fusion of post-hardcore intensity, alt-metal aggression, and raw vulnerability. Guttural verses and soaring melodic hooks collide as the lyrics tear through the illusion of control, ownership, and emotional manipulation. This isn’t just a breakup track — it’s a survival statement.

Driven by grinding guitars, glitchy synth pulses, and a scream-to-sing dynamic that mirrors inner chaos, the song builds to a brutal, defiant climax:

“I gave you my fire — you thought it meant you could hold the match.”

Never yours to kill (Never been)

“If I Go First” is a raw and vulnerable track that dives headfirst into the quiet terror of mortality, love, and abandonment. Set against haunting melodies and explosive crescendos, the song captures the unspoken fear of leaving — or being left behind — too soon. It’s a desperate promise wrapped in post-hardcore grit: if I go first, don’t forget me… and if you go, please take my memory with you. With soaring vocals and gut-punch lyrics, this track is both a eulogy and a love letter for the ones we might not get to say goodbye to.

If I go first

“Leave Before You Left” is a gut-wrenching anthem for anyone who’s ever felt the slow, quiet erosion of love long before the goodbye was said out loud. Blending post-hardcore grit with aching vulnerability, the track paints the emotional wreckage of being abandoned while still technically “together.” It’s not about the moment someone leaves — it’s about when they stopped showing up long before that.

With cinematic buildups, desperate verses, and a chorus that hits like the last unanswered message, Leave Before You Left captures the pain of watching someone emotionally walk out the door while pretending they’re still holding your hand. It’s sorrow, fury, and closure all at once.

Leave before you left

“Mindfield” is an explosive, unfiltered dive into the battlefield of mental illness — where every thought is a trigger and survival is a daily decision. With haunting atmospherics, glitchy textures, and a chorus that detonates like a buried trauma finally surfacing, this track turns inner turmoil into a war cry.

It’s not just about struggling — it’s about still standing. The lyrics trace the unrelenting noise of anxiety, depression, dissociation, and shame, all while carving space for resilience. This is the sound of someone who’s been to hell and mapped it.

Unapologetically dark, brutally honest, and emotionally cinematic, Mindfield is for anyone who’s ever felt like their mind turned against them — and fought like hell anyway.

Mindfield

This is the warning shot. “FAFO” is a ruthless, no-bluff anthem built from blood, trauma, and absolute loyalty. Every line is a promise, every scream a contract signed in scars. It’s about the cost of keeping your word—especially to yourself—and the rage that comes when people mistake your silence for weakness. Born from pain, fueled by principle, and delivered with teeth bared. You want to test it?
Fuck Around. Find Out.

“FAFO” (Fuck around, find out)

This one’s not about healing—it’s about hiding. “Stitches Don’t Hold” is the sound of someone who tried to keep it all together with silence, with smiles, with anything but truth. It’s slow bleed honesty for every time you told yourself it didn’t hurt anymore—but it did. This song cracks beneath the pressure, unraveling in real time. Some wounds don’t close. Some stitches never hold.

Stitches don’t hold

There’s a cost to loyalty—and this song is the detonation. “Loyal Like a Landmine” is for the ones who stayed too long, gave too much, and got used for it. It’s the anthem of someone who doesn’t quit—until you cross the line. Then it’s already too late. Built on trust, broken by betrayal, and buried with no warning. I don’t bark. I don’t bluff. I just blow.

Loyal like a landmine

You see strength. I see survival. “Concrete Halo” is about being praised for making it through what should’ve killed you—and resenting every second of it. They call you a hero, but they didn’t feel the fire. They love the version of you that lived, not the parts that died along the way. This isn’t holiness. It’s hell dressed up to look like grace. The halo’s cracked—and it’s heavy as concrete.

Concrete halo

This is discipline weaponized. “I Mean What I Say” is a declaration from someone who doesn’t make threats—they make promises. It’s about loyalty so intense it becomes dangerous, even to yourself. You said it, so you do it—no matter how much it hurts. And when they think you’re bluffing, they learn the hard way you never were. No fake threats. No empty talk. Just follow-through with bite.

I mean what I say

This one doesn’t come with a warning—it is the warning. “Teeth First” is pure instinct, pure grit, and pure consequences. It’s about what happens when survival turns you into something dangerous. No more begging. No more mercy. If you test it, you get the bite before the bark. Loyalty with fangs. Love with claws. You stepped wrong—and now you’re bleeding. I told you how I fight. You just didn’t believe me.

Teeth first

Half machine, all fury. “Blood in the Circuitry” is what happens when you try to wire a human soul into a system built to break it. It’s glitching, it’s burning, and it won’t shut down. Every lyric pulses with defiance, every beat screams overload. You wanted obedience—but you built something you can’t control. This isn’t a breakdown. It’s a reboot—with teeth. I’m not broken. I’m evolving.

Blood in the circuitry

A haunting confession wrapped in whispered regret and quiet strength, Apology to Self is a letter to the version of you that was silenced to survive. This track strips back every layer of pretending — raw vocals and gentle harmonies expose the cost of self-abandonment, and the quiet vow to never do it again. It’s not about closure; it’s about finally listening to the voice you buried.

Apology to self

I’m Sorry, Me is a brutally honest apology to the mirror — for every time you ignored your own breaking point just to keep everyone else whole. This song captures the moment you realize the person you’ve hurt most was the one carrying you. With its cracked reflection of grief, guilt, and long-overdue self-forgiveness, this track bleeds vulnerability in every line. It’s not redemption — it’s recognition.

I’m sorry, me

I make music for the ones who were left behind, burned alive, and came back sharper.

Every track is a scar turned anthem.
I’m not here to be saved — I’m here to show what survival really sounds like.

Inspired by pain, forged in fire.

🎙️ Metalcore • Post-Hardcore • Rage Therapy

Welcome to the ashes.

Stevenhapgood

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