fog (w CASKETS!)

bittersweet 130

why strip me of my humanity

sonder

dead to me

medicine (w/ Kyra)

till the clock strikes

campfires on Christmas

Written, Arranged, Performed, and Produced by Kyle Bolan
Art by Kyle Bolan

Lyrics:
Laid out over an endless flat plain of white sand
Comfortable bleaching in the naked Sun
Lean-to's covered with tattered cloth close by
Safety in arms from which you cannot pry

No fever here
Dressing hold tight upon the wounds
There isn't a single square inch to clean
No refuse to collect
no steam, no dunes

Discussion holds no value
Traps are welcomed and sought
My surrounding core is this desolate and hot
A life made to be extant
No thought thrown to future or past
Missing desires and prophecies
to declare or recant

This model has all the gears of a clock
Frame of wire suspending rock
Made as a diagram for young minds
to learn and dissect
The basis of which is incorrect

I haven't been into anything else
Have not been approached by the workings of a similar core
How these nights are all Sun
Encroached by the beautiful poignantly sore
How these comforts I tease are
oblivion of war

I'm etching a new model in this flat taste
The warmth of those arms
with need, shame, necessity 
with greedy intent
I have disgraced

Forgive me this trespass
this torrential waste
July 5, 2025

Orrery

#StartTheNextWave - New Wave. Post Punk. Art Pop Experimentor. New songs always in the works. Stay tuned.

New tracks tagged ##alt