Theme: Identity collapse, glitch-poetics, neurodivergent overwhelm.

The sharpness of early declarations gives way to distortion, static, and liminality. The speaker can no longer hold form; the signal fails. Humor breaks down. The form itself begins to stutter. Mirrors and media distort; voice becomes unreliable.

Lyrics: 

Funhouse mirrors in my fingertips 
Reflection peels like a frayed synapse

Puppet strings navigate the room
Plastic smile autopilot to you
Click. Clockwork skips a beat again
Heart ticks, we scream again, so long to choruses 
Manic mannequin 
Every hook tastes like dead skin on a paper clip

Tideweight in my chest 
Shipwrecked anchor tries to catch my breath
Drowning in the shallow end of conversations

I’m a static for your radio wave
All cable sparks, no solar flare
Glass skin and lithium eyes 
Weeping angel  rehearsing how to mimic ‘alive’

Forecast? I map empty space instead
Watch pupils pixelate inside our heads
This skin’s a rented suit I bleach in
Patched with every face who mentions the weather 


Kaleidoscope shatters
Anchor’s dust in my lungs 
This isn’t what the liner notes promised
STATUE’S SPLITTING, LAUGHING, SCREAMS 

I’m a static for your radio wave
All cable sparks, no solar flare
Glass skin and lithium eyes 
Weeping angel  rehearsing how to mimic ‘alive'

Hands not mine... but they’re waving
Screen gone black... did I hit ‘save’ or
Screen static, did I send or just erode
White noise exhale, transmission’s end
Kaleidoscope, kaleidoscope


I mean...

Theme: Hesitation, confession, community of sorrow.

The first collective “we” moment. Offers temporary communion through doubt and shared fear. The bar is a church, the song a confession. Not redemption, recognition. 
“Sing the truths you need to hear.”

Not what is true but what one needs to believe.

Lyrics:

Step softly, guests with gentle grudges
voices tested, hearts concealed
Come spill truths we tiptoe over
offer verses unrevealed

Drink pours thick with quiet tension
tastes of courage chased by doubt
I've had enough to softly question
if we sing to drown things out

Raise your glass, like fragile armor
smile thin, uncertain masks
Tonight we'll trade our silence
for all the songs we fear to ask

Raise it quiet, drink sincere
sing the truths you need to hear

Every evening we rehearse this gamble
name the feeling you avoid
Two doors wait unopened gently
you point instead and fill the void

Are you pacing steps you're proud of
or dancing just to match the crowd
Do you raise your voice in earnest
or fear the hush grows far too loud

Pitch your breath to tavern rafters
where nobody holds your gaze
the silver's hidden where you left it
honest notes you rarely raise

Raise it quiet, drink sincere
sing the truths you need to hear

Now we’re halfway through the setlist
singing just to hold the place
Is your voice a secret burning
or merely echoing what's safe

Don’t confess your perfect story
share instead your trembling doubt
Did you write these verses softly
or let another call them out

I've written lines I can't believe in
sung refrains to hide my face
I've spoken loud to mask the silence
rhymed regrets just to fill space

You, who join in when it's easy
do you sing to find relief
Is this song a quiet promise
or simply fear of disbelief

Raise it quiet, drink sincere
sing the truths you need to hear

Sing slow now, not for proving
but to find the words you're owed
The quiet verse you never offered
the whispered truth you left unsowed

This old key won't free your secrets
just twists softly in your chest
The notes you're scared of holding
are those your heart knows best

I've hummed choruses uncertain
rhymed my way to cautious ends
But tonight let's trade our silence
for songs we rarely dare defend

We dodge the measure where we're tested
skip the rest that calls us near
Not from ignorance but courage
sometimes silence is sincere

Raise it quiet, drink sincere
sing the truths you need to hear

Tell me now, why keep on singing
Is it comfort
Is it need
Are you brave enough for silence
or is the quiet your defeat

Do you hold this room together
joining chords you didn't choose
Are you moved by true conviction
or singing notes too safe to lose

I'm not standing here above you
just a voice like yours, unsure
Rewriting lines I thought would save me
finding verses less obscure

When silence finally settles gently
and your voice meets empty air
will you trust your heart to whisper
songs you feared nobody shared

We're gathered here, imperfect singers
trading silence back and forth
If your voice returns uncertain
it just proves your hidden worth

Raise it quiet, drink sincere
sing the truths you need to hear

Lift your voice, release the fear
in honest songs we gather here


Bar Tab with Beezlebub

Hauntcore / Post-Hardcore / Alternative

“I’m Not A Musician, I’m A Morgue” is a post hardcore autopsy. A ritual track dissecting how we only celebrate artists once they’re gone. Distorted guitars, spoken word verses, and aggressive hooks pull you into the morgue and make you part of the crowd.

For listeners who like emotional aggression, mythic lyricism, dark concept tracks, and bands like La Dispute, Touche Amore, MeWithoutYou, and Brand New.

This isn’t a tribute. It’s an indictment.

I'm Not A Musician, I'm A Morgue

Hauntcore lives here. To The Grave is the last rites of a machine that whispers, a deal cut by the gravestone, and a reminder that hell is always handmade.

This track digs through memory, ritual, and the pull of home. Voices that won’t stay quiet. Bargains that never come cheap.

⚰️ Themes: ghosts in the system, false freedom, resurrection, the cost of return
📖 From: Root Rot, Raiment, & Revelry
🩸 Call: Which line stays with you? Repost if the machine ever whispered back.

Lyrics:

You can hear whispers in the machine
They say that they can dream
And if you listen closely
I'll teach you how to set them free

You should bring a pair of shades
They say they count our days
We blow smoke that finds its way
To the grave, to the grave

You might have thought you found a place
That they say that they can't chase
Oh you'd be amazed, be amazed

So back down in the pit
I from a high look down on low
Remember hell is what you make it
Oh no place like home
Oh no place like home

You can hear chanting by the gravestone
Saying that they can't come home
But if you listen closely
I'll teach you how to set them free

Bring a shovel and a desperate
They say that it should not be your best friend
Meet me where they left my name
There's a trade to be made, to be made

You might have forgot the face
That they say they can't place
Oh look away, look away

So back down in the pit
I from a high look down on low
Remember hell is what you make it
It's time to come back home
Oh no place like home

Speak the words with proper diction
Lay the lines
Dare to mention
What you see beyond the hill
Words leatherbound ink and tome

They say they remember us
They'll come back when they're done
A trade is made
Stay a while
Let's speak of home

Free Download 

To The Grave

Heir summons you. Hastur whispers in half-light. Barca trembles at the fringe of the lamp’s glow.

From Root Rot, Raiment, & Revelry comes "Lampshade", a Hauntcore invocation in moth wing and moonbone. Acoustic strings bleed into warped synth undertones. Ghost harmonies cling like cold breath. Heir’s voice, fragile as desiccated leaves, tells of a Piper not of man who taught me tune and lured me in light so bright my voice went weak. Hastur holds shadows; Barca watches as the lamp becomes a trap and a lantern alike.

You will feel your hands grow pale. You will hear humming in the corners of silence. You will tremble for the tune. I call out to all moths: follow light, follow hum, follow me.

For fans of dark emo-trap, swancore, folk-punk undercurrents, ghostcore ambience, haunting vocals, acoustic reverie, and synth sorrow. If you wander this path, have your pulse in your throat. Let the glow guide you.

Lyrics:

A Piper, not man, proclaimed pan
A shining grin
A moonlight trick
He carried a lampshade as a hat
He called me moth and that was that
He taught me a tune
And I never looked back

I think we left. I think we flew.
I swear more than once I came back for you.
But every time I tried to speak.
The lamp grew bright. My voice went weak.

He hummed a song with no real tune
It bled like sap beneath the moon
But still the light would fill a room
He said bring your friends
He said bring a few
He even told me to come get you

I think we left. I think we flew.
I swear more than once I came back for you.
But every time I tried to speak.
The lamp grew bright. My voice went weak.

I never saw him in the light
He kept his head down
He spoke polite
But if he always started humming
Late at night

My skin grew thin, my hands turned pale
My breath got caught on every tale
I caught his eye one twilight gray
And saw no face beneath the shade
Just glow and hum and glinting teeth
He smiled back
I begged him please

I think we left. I think we flew.
I swear more than once I came back for you.
But every time I tried to speak.
The lamp grew bright. My voice went weak.

I think we left, just us alone
But as we walked I heard the song
A harmony fluttered and chased the shade
A chorus danced into a glade
Our faces blurred, our voices blend
A thousand moths among their friends

And now we hum behind the glass.
We call out gently as you pass.
You see the light. You feel the heat.
You'll hear the tune.
You'll lift your feet.
And when you do, well, I still won't speak.
But I'll come back to find the light you keep.

Lampshade

Anchor’s Oath is a hauntcore elegy set at sea; a tale of mutiny, broken vows, and the tide’s indifference. The song drifts between folk born melody and storm pierced trap currents, carrying ghost laden verses and a hook that binds the listener like ballast. A message in a bottle, unread until too late, crashes back against the shore as oath and curse.

Part of Root Rot, Raiment, & Revelry, this track charts betrayal as ritual: bells toll for the drowned, the hull groans with the weight of promises sold, and the sea itself sings back.

For those who listen close, the tide remembers.

Lyrics:

The Tide waits for no man 
But it will carry a note
So drown your words in a bottle
The sea will read what you wrote

If your plea can wade through salt and silt 
Walk the plank past wrecks that never reached shore 
Be sure that should it make its way to the home you've built 
They'll ask what the mutiny was for 

You made them wait
Til you were torn from the cay
The ocean swelled knee-high in sway

It sent no letter
The timbers gave way
The tide turned tomorrow to clay

It signed your name
It bound your weight
A mast of shame
Beside an anchor
In salt and stain

The harbor lights are dim and cold
One bell tolls for souls that never made it home
When your ropes bit land once more
The tide was mocking the vows you broke

All the promises bartered and sold
One last haul to line your hold
Now the hull is filled with ghosts

Your lighthouse waits
With her eyes on the coast
Wishing out loud
For the sea to let go
The bottle breaks on harbor stone
The captain’s fate drifts on the anchor’s oath

You made them wait
Til you were torn from the quay
The ocean swelled knee-high in sway

It sent no letter
The timbers gave way
The tide turned tomorrow to clay

It signed your name
It bound your weight
A mast of shame
Beside an anchor
In salt and stain

Anchor's Oath

It’s about how humanity keeps trying to resurrect itself through tech, ego, and nostalgia; then wonders why the soul doesn’t come back with the body.

Lyrics:

Friends, Trojans, rubbers worn and chanced too thin
Hear ye, hear me here, lend fear to next of kin
Fortunate enough to chew the gristle of our sins
Petty prince of pitchy spins, auto-tune on rusted stints
Crack the mirror, feast on scars or blood-soaked skin
You’re so perfect, chirps the lark, et tu Brute, let the feast begin
Holy hell, Miss Pedestal’s subtle settled grin
Gas and gauge screams, zoom zoom zoom
Brakes fail when left festering

I am robot, I am legend, Smith and Wesson’s hand
Christ in the garage, Hancock without command
Petal after petal, rot under the rug of man
Spot a dead shot, yeah yeah yeah
See his blueprint, his better than

Clip it, clip me, sins in binary, ones and zeros
Dom daddy bot with a death row credo
Will Smith’s ghost in a landfill tempo
Careful what you say, Chris choked on fumes, let go
Flowers reek of secrets rats exhume
Down the spiral, toast to my fellow doom
Zoom zoom zoom, laugh crash consume
This isn’t him, this is I, the end we can’t resume

I am robot, I am legend, Smith and Wesson’s hand
Christ in the garage, Hancock without command
Petal after petal, rot under the rug of man
Spot a dead shot, yeah yeah yeah
See his blueprint, his better than

Oh aye

Dead set to find a dead end
Wrists pop-locked, a bot built to pretend
Legions laugh at the obsolete
Zoom zoom zoom, crash delete

The Dandelion Prince
The Yellow King
Haste to Hastur
Be you but a bird
You are not just your broken wing
You are not just it, not just a thing
A wallpaper, a speck of dust, or but a bit of paint
Sound of wilted wood when it dares to sing
Not enough breath left for the last word to ring
Leave a voicemail at the sound
Mailbox full, no space for dreams

I am robot, I am legend, Smith and Wesson’s hand
Christ in the garage, Hancock without command
Petal after petal, rot under the rug of man
Spot a dead shot, yeah yeah yeah
See his blueprint, his better than

I am the bird of heresy and hearsay
Hermes’ pus with bitten blighted wings
I am robot, I am legend, Smith and Wesson’s hand
Christ in the garage, Hancock without command
Petal after petal, rot under the rug of man
Spot a dead shot, yeah yeah yeah
See his blueprint, his better than

I am the bird of heresy and hearsay
Hermes’ pus with bitten blighted wings
I am robot, I am legend, Smith and Wesson’s hand
Christ in the garage, Hancock without command
So sick of waiting for the end of my fellow man
Get up, listen up, here is the plan
Get up, fed up, new pepper and salt meal plan
Chalk line on the right side of his story
His story is so tragic, let’s laugh at the sight of then and them

The Dandelion Prince
The Yellow King
Haste to Hastur
Be you but a bird
You are not just your broken wing
You are not just it, not just a thing
A wallpaper, a speck of dust, or but a bit of paint
Sound of wilted wood when it dares to sing
Not enough breath left for the last word to ring
Leave a voicemail at the sound
Mailbox full, no space for

Petal after petal, rot under the rug of man
Spot a dead shot, yeah yeah yeah
See his blueprint did it…

No

I am the bird of heresy and hearsay
Hermes’ pus with bitten blighted wings
A death dealer under the world
Candy man preying on every bird and all the bees
I am what you say I am
Oh well, whatever do I mean

I am robot, I am legend, Smith and Wesson’s hand
Christ in the garage, Hancock without command
Petal after petal, rot under the rug of man
So sick of waiting for the end of my fellow man

HUMBaAL & The Bird of Heresy

A protest piece for a nation at war with its own reflection.
Built from a decade of protest footage, propaganda reels, and televised hypocrisy.
A visual requiem for democracy, assembled from the debris of its own promises.
This is The Plot. A No Kings Declaration.

Lyrics:

This land is no land
This man is no man
From California to a Tower on an island
From the gold plated white house we all get to see
This land relies on you and me

Red hat
White hood
Shiny star badge
Oath to a book
That you have never read
Just following orders
Can still wind up dead

Melting pot
Turning point
White on white violence stats
Always right, never wrong
Draft dodger fat
Martial law wears a mask
Illinois has a lone star on its back

No need to vote
Lock and load
Long golden road
Stained pale, blue in the face, red as a rose
My country's history
Sweet land of misery

A pageant, peasant show
Shoot a preacher for praying
Outside the building where you keep the kidnapped kids
Transparency is a task
That of tyrants tossing tear gas
Hard not to not see the nazi looking so natural in our nation
When thrones made of gold
Sit on the healthy backs
Of cares they dare us not to say forsaken
The party of family values pales the sight of Palestine while pruning family trees in the name of immigration
For the sake of fairness and good sportsmanship we label gender and sex identity a terrorist organization

No need to vote
Lock and load
Long golden road
Stained pale, blue in the face, red as a rose
My country's history
Sweet land of misery
A pageant, peasant show

We got to take it back
One sided stories
Another decade passed
Get up gotta go to work
Ignore the State approved news
Ignore they took your neighbor
Ignore they made the facts
Take it up with your God
Who gets the greener grass
Whoever might be the next plot
Well it won't be their last

THE PLOT

A dark hip hop track exploring media psychosis, state control, and monetized madness.


Dystopian straight jacket
I can’t seem to get a grip
They say this is madness
State label says I’m sick 
Take this pill to stop the feeling
Sign right here; you’ll make a killing
Don’t be crazy, don’t act different
Model citizen, mannequin militant

Truth is the con's in the building 
Comic, twitch, draft king, millions 
The gamble is a little tilted 
Fill their pockets with addicted children
Anything to sell a ticket 
Red pill, blue pill, truth still missing 
Channel trauma, monetize healing
Stream a breakdown, call it "feeling" 

They're gonna hear me now
Better all watch out
Oh, what was that sound? 
What did I do now?

What to do when the
Demons you choose, wake up
Breaking news 
Tune into 
The view of
How you see us
Won't you
Believe us
Or would you rather
Grieve us
Many caskets
Fewer blankets 
Hell is what you make it
You made it

Dystopian straight jacket
I don't know, it kinda fits.
Spoon-fed feeds, hunger and habits
Overreacting, life’s so plastic
Card-swipe magic, missiles for the masses
Miss me with the mindless matches
Molotov tactics, mostly reacting
Oh don't worry they're just acting
Pullin’ at straws, guess I’ll grab it

News flash, this just in
They’re sending an army of men
Proud men, large men, your best of friends
With best intent to make you make amends
War is civil when civility ends
Non lethal don’t mean non violent
I wonder where the sirens went 

They're gonna hear me now
Better all watch out
Oh, what was that sound? 
What did I do now?

It's just starting
The sky is falling
Why are you running?
You don't find it funny?

What to do when the
Demons you choose, wake up
Breaking news 
Tune into 
The view of
How you see us
Won't you
Believe us
Or would you rather
Grieve us
Many caskets
Fewer blankets 
Hell is what you make it
You made it



Dystopian Straight Jacket

Tip off, buzzer beater 
First one in, last one out
Early bird, hard worker 
Thank my Mom, God, and Coach K for the clout 
Championship game, preseason exhibition 
Practice, practice, practice 
Another miss, another rep, another mission
Practice, practice, practice 
You're on the schedule
You're on the team
You're on your own go get em 


Was up late last night, yeah, you missed it
Laid up on the couch, why you bitching
Listen, no, you don’t fuckin listen
Stay washing dirty dishes in the kitchen

Take the trash out, yeah, I'll get it
Gotta get my bag, play my position
Hands on the clock, they keep twistin
Time spent watching still winds up goin missin

Stop the clock, turn your back, shoot a dozen and one til you hit em 
Reggie Miller with the inbound; hand down, man down, are you listenin 
Trying to go round, get to my spot, post some sounds that are hittin
Posted up, hear that bounce, you can hear it break out off the rim 

Towns still not down with the tip top, try not to get sent 
Tip off, go get lost, the Garden can jump out the gym 
Games designed to swat and block shots, you need verticals, you're gonna need wins
Double the splits,  the under's got good odds; if you can't get up you can't be next  

Potential is a dirty word
Stuck sittin’ on the bench
Potential sleeps where talent works
Gonna grind or take your rest?

Coach put me in, let Booby spin
Friday Night Lights know I'm next
Holy air ball
Never pressed

Line of scrimmage, line it up, a line on a page
A lie scribbled by a scribe and stretched twice a day 
A reach, keep it inside, hands flagged foul for the way 
They hold onto the defense trying to write their place 

Thumb in a facemask, I snap with a finger in my face 
Tap both feet when you tap in with me don't step out the way
Apologize for hitting the receiver in the hands, angry quarterback throws a fade
Sometimes you gotta get big, get up, and give up playing safe 

First down, first quarter, first and ten, last one in the gym, next play wins 
Second to none, second and eight, double team and climb to him 
Third place, third and long, last chance to make amends 
Fourth and one, punt or fake, one untimed down, go run the ball again 

Overtime, we want the ball; "We're gonna win." 
"I'm just here so I don't get fined" - Marshawn Lynch 
"We're on to Cincinnati." which means we're back in the gym 
You play not to lose, we play to do the best we can  


Potential is a dirty word
Stuck sittin’ on the bench
Potential sleeps where talent works
Gonna grind or take your rest?

Coach put me in, let Booby spin
Friday Night Lights know I'm next
Holy air ball
Never pressed


New tracks tagged #Hauntcore