Rapture Window

A lil' somethin' I threw together, feelin inspired by my crew lately post-mortem.

Shush, DOOM's Talkin'

I’m done. I’m done. I’m done.
Yeah — I’m fucking done.

Fluorescent hum, hallway yawns, breath runs cold.
Lamia whispers, “Don’t feel” — tightens her hold.
I gave you my nights, my ration of sleep;
you climbed my spine and you drank me deep.
Numbers on walls start crawling like ants,
your lullaby hisses, the doorway slants.
I wore your scales like the chosen one,
’til nails met rope — and a strand came undone.

Empty bag, full heart — I’m bolting the door.
If truth has teeth, let it bite me more.

It’s my turn to scream, my turn to breathe,
I carried your world till I dropped to my knees.
Push if you want — I won’t break, I won’t leave.
I’m drawing the line where you step over me.
Hear me now — clean as a bell, like a drum:
I’m stronger with you gone.

Say less. I feel more.

Mirrors mouth guilt with a voice like mine,
footsteps in vents keep counting time.
Ceilings crawl. Curtains hiss my name.
White coats say, “Kid, you care — you’re sane.”
But venom in kisses fogs every view;
I patch your shed-skin, I come unglued.
I feed you my days till I fade from the frame,
forget how I got here, remember my name.

No more scoreboard love. No more debt.
Empty bag, full heart — that’s what I protect.

It’s my turn to scream, my turn to breathe,
no choir of voices will bury my lead.
Pull if you want — I won’t bend, I won’t plead.
I’m taking the wheel, I’m cutting the leash.
Hear it rise — steady as a drum:
I’m stronger with you gone.

Salt line down. Hands on the sink.
Name five truths. Refuse to blink.
Open the window. Call out my name.
Cold water, bright light — reset the frame.
The walls stop tilting. The hallway is straight.
The coil unravels. I walk out the gate.

Then daylight speaks — not a spell, just a hand.
No fangs, no traps, just someone who stands.
She gives without taking, her words aren’t knives,
sees who I am and calls it alive.
In her calm I learn what I’m worth —
love can be fierce and still be earth.

No more debt. No more chains.
No more “calm.” No more shame.

I won’t shrink to fit your storm.
I won’t trade my pulse for yours.

It’s my turn to scream — and I won’t fade.
I carried your sky; now I keep my name.
Run if you must — I won’t chase, I won’t cave.
I’m done with the cage I tried to save.
Say it loud, under streetlights, under sun:
I’m stronger with you gone.

Say less. I feel more.
Empty bag, full heart.
I’m stronger — with you gone.

House of the Lamia

P T S D ₄₄₄₄ ambience- DMG.COLLAPSE - NOISECORE
▀▄▀▄▀▄𖤐▄▀▄▀▄▀
ᵥ_ᵥ Guitar/Vox rec + prod. 𝕯𝖆𝖒🅐𝖌𝖊𝕭𝖔𝖎𝖎𝖎 ©


THANK U 4 STAYING </3

we don’t bleed the same

Human Doom

doam

If you've ever been hurt by your main squeeze, deceived by your best friend, or down to your last dime and ready to call it quits, this cat has the solution if you have the time to listen.

Ladies and Gentlemen's...and all those who wish to be considered so! Here 'tis! Here goes the greatest remedy for the blues on earth! The results obtained by the use of this track have been phenomenal!

Your enemy cannot harm you, but watch your close friend - Rev. Edward W. Clayborn

I wanted to buy me some cakes but I had shot dice and lost my roll - Blind Lemon Jefferson, Bakershop Blues

"Sweet Singer of the Swamplands Here to Do a Few Tunes between Homicides" - January 3, 1935, headline in the New York Herald Tribune announcing the arrival of Leadbelly

I had to steal music from every which a way to get it... to get it to fit - Willie McTell, intro to The Dyin' Crapshooter's Blues

Some folks dig the swamp blues...I YAM THE SWAMP, Y'ALL !

They tell me God don't like ugly. Said, boy, your home's in hell - Sam Chatmon, God Don't Like Ugly

When Paramount Records got the ol' chap to make this record, they put over a big one for the Blues! He is a blues preacher that knows how to pick and holler! Listen to this a here record right now!

And now, emanating from the Secaucus Lounge of the
Fabulous Fandango Hotel in Weehawken, New Jersey -
We proudly present the celestial melodies of Lou Waxman
And his Orchestra, who ask the age old musical question...

Aunt Caroline Dye she told me,
"Son, you don't have to live so rough"
"I'm going to fix you up a mojo, oh Lord, so you can strut your stuff"
[Go on and strut yo' stuff!]

Originality is way overrated. 
To make, you need to take. All great artists do
All has not been said and never will be
Only those with no memory insist on their originality

I know my crown gonna fit me well, 'cause tried it on at the gates of hell - Reverend Gary Davis

'Scuse my cough, I slept in a chicken house last night. - Jesse Fuller

Nothing annoys me more when I'm talking to someone about music and for some reason, they think their opinion is as valid as mine.

We wrote this song, it's our own compose' - Sleepy John Estes, Don't You Want To Know 1941

Uh - but we celebratin' Christmas wrong from the way I look at the matter - shootin' off fireworks, cussin', and dancin', raisin' all other kinds of sand... uh - Death may be your Santa Claus! All of you who are decoratin' your rooms and gettin' ready for an all night dance - Death may be your Santa Claus! Death is on your track and is going to overtake you after awhile - Reverend J.M. Gates

(about Elvis Presley) I wasn't just a fan, I was his brother. He said I was good and I said he was good; we never argued about that. Elvis was a hard worker, dedicated, and God loved him. Last time I saw him was at Graceland. We sang "Old Blind Barnabus" together, a gospel song. I love him and hope to see him in heaven. There'll never be another like that soul brother.--James Brown

I don't play 'em, I stomp 'em. - Bukka White

When you go down on Deep Ellum, keep your carburator clean, 'cause the women on Deep Ellum sell you dirty gasoline - Bill Neely

Here she comes! The Black Diamond Express to Hell with Sin the Engineer holding the throttle wide open; Pleasure is the headlight, and the devil is the conductor. You can feel the roaring of the express and the moanin' of the drunkards, liars, gamblers and other folk who have got aboard. They are hell-bound and they don't want to go. The train makes eleven stops but nobody can get off - Vocalion advertisement for Rev. A.W. Nix's 1927 recording Black Diamond Express to Hell

"...When I play-- if you pay attention, what I sing the guitar sings, too. And what the guitar say, I say."--Mississippi Fred McDowell

Mean Ol' Fireman Blues

This was the other reason I was hoping the tape deck would work..... This is our 2025 E.P. "Plagues" recorded onto a nearly pristine (used once) TDK SA-90 from 1985. New old stock, eBay find. Dumped back into my DAW, stems separated and remastered. I love what it did to the sound. All tracks are downloadable, 48khz/24-bit Flac. See the original E.P.  for lyrics.

The Herrindmine

Ressolon, Vontantetist

Read The Last One First

No details. Said to be from Little Egypt, Illinois. Proficient-esque/ish on guitar, One String Homemade Diddley Bow, Congas, and Mississippi saxophone. Present whereabouts unknown. Alleged step/half cousin in-law of Boregard Rippy.

"He sounds like two flat tires on a dirt road, tryin' to catch up."--RS

“What I love about playing music (is) because I did my own singing and do my own thing, didn't have to worry about nobody crossin' me.”

☕ Like what you hear? Support me directly: coff.ee/marol

Not interested in future collabs of any sort. Thank you.

⁻ˋˏ┈┈┈┈ 🅐ᴺᵀᴵ⁻ᴳᵉⁿʳᵉˢ-ˢʸⁿᵗʰᵉˢⁱˢ♭ₒᵢᵢᵢ ᵥ._.ᵥ𓄧
ᴍᴜsɪᴄɪᴀɴ⁺✦ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇʀ✦ᴅᴊ⁺₊✦⁺

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Cybₑᵣ₋gₒₜₕ ᵣₐᵥₑ ₘₑₑₜₛ ₑₘₒ₋ₚₒₚ.
ₛₒₘₑₜᵢₘₑₛ bᵣᵤₜₐₗ ᵣₐᵥₑ bₑₐₜₛ . ₛₒₘₑₜᵢₘₑₛ ₕₑₐᵣₜbᵣₑₐₖ ₒₙ ₐ bₑₐₜ. 
ₙₒ gₑₙᵣₑ ₗᵢₘᵢₜₛ—ₒₙₗy ᵣₐw ₑₙₑᵣgy.

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𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘦 ✶ 𝘈𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦 ✶ 𝘕𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 ✶ 𝘙𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 ✶ 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 ✶ 𝘈𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵-𝘗𝘰𝘱 ✶ 𝘎𝘍𝘠𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 ✶ 𝘌𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘦 ✶ 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘦 ✶ 𝘚𝘢𝘥𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘦 ✶ 𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘗𝘰𝘱

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Released via k1lld.m.g — Independent Hybrid Label ©
All music produced by 𝕯𝖆𝖒🅐𝖌𝖊𝕭𝖔𝖎𝖎𝖎 ©

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