A mythic trial staged in rot and memory. The bard stands accused, the jury wears feathers, the verdict lands soft and cuts anyway. Whispered testimony glitches into falsetto, then breaks into chant. Trap hats flicker like static. Guitars drag through baritone mud and octave snaps. The reaper reads from a book that hums when opened. It hums your name.

This isn’t justice. It’s theater with teeth. Confession offered in fragments. Judgment whispered by crows. No one leaves innocent. No one leaves remembered.

Lyrics: 

Six black-robed, perched in a fenceline fog
Called forth by a carrion court to rustle confession in beak-writ law
Beckoning I shrike-smiled bone-recorder chalklined in rot
From the tree tribunal retorts are demanded truth must now atone
Let the crows cast their first stone

They caw I carve my guilt in cursive
but you admire calligraphy
I wore grief like borrowed silk
but you stitched our pillow talk into threads of preaching
I stood stone-stuck when the blood ran still
but your boots stayed dry
didn’t dare lace doubt or howl downhill
I passed the torch yes
but whose hand lit it
What is a match but a scout
A flimsy flint with a tinsel crown
The crows asked what I meant by silence
I pointed past to the choir
They peck at me now
They point to you there our little plot shrouded and bound

The verdict is a feather black and light as blame
It floats it cuts it carries none who speak their name
Not guilty not forgiven just bound beneath the sky
Where crows recite their sentence
Cawing
Calling
Cawing
and never once say why

Where were you when the sky turned red
Why does your shadow speak instead
I opened my mouth but a worm fell out
A sin too rotten to live without
They asked me who I used to be
I said a name befitting an effigy
They passed the eye the shrike the nail
I failed their test I breathe the tale
Among branches like veins corpsed black
I became pupil to a sky of molasses and ash
Watchers of my worst wings stitched in regret
With burnt-coin eyes they weigh my debt

The verdict is a feather black and light as blame
It floats it cuts it carries none who speak their name
Not guilty not forgiven just bound beneath the sky
Where crows recite their sentence
Cawing
Calling
Cawing
and never once say why

One crow had my lover’s face
Its eyes were smoke its cry was grace
It bowed its head it turned away
I tried to speak I had no say

The verdict is a feather falling slow as shame
It names you myth then burns your name
Not guilty not remembered just part of crow-lore’s call
Quill forged from thunder’s throat
Zeus chokes on a demi joke forgotten after all

No gallows no gavel no reply
Just featherfall beneath the night
The trees applaud the wind rewinds
Time ticks taught threads of tales unbind
The jury caws a careless cry goodbye

Carry-On Carrion Court

Barroom lament. Ghosts in the glass. Folkloric unraveling and infernal intimacy.

Lyrics: 

Across the bar
A cross of bars
Barbs of Brandy poured for the Bard
A throat of scars hidden like cloudy stars
Or a table for one in the corner lit like an altar 
I see her bite her lip and I ponder
Who is my ferry

To smoke is too light, to die a little faster
Such is my right to charter such a tall glass of what matters
If you don’t mind, river boat man
I would rather enjoy the absence of absinthe
Than this Abysmal chatter

Your reflection in this shot
Is just enough courage to help laugh
There's a party by the bayou
I can walk you but there's a catch
By the by I’ll be gone when morning lights the match
By the time you read what's on your mantle I’ll have finished this glass
I signed it with the name we wrote between the cracks

Fist, sword, and quill stuck; skipping stones, stalling hell
Clenched to a tongue dipped infernal, cherub’s grace withheld
Drink from the cup: a rim baud, a season bid farewell

Author
Page, scribe, and pen still scraping stones on stones for stones
The cost of concise time
It’s sunny suffering, courage and formality 
Both a kind of stairwell to a dull divine
On the river rides rocky, the sticks that stir the Styx
Each sip of sense, a thought spent wading the siren of the fishwife

To smoke is too light, to die a little faster
Such is my right to charter such a tall glass of what matters
If you don’t mind, river boat man
I would rather enjoy the absence of absinthe
Than this Abysmal chatter

Purge, purgatory, parlay; please play prayer passive
My dear Persephone,
Pomegranate splash on ice
In a chalice that warms with blush
And edges sharp with spite

To smoke is too light, to die a little faster
Such is my right to charter such a tall glass of what matters
If you don’t mind, river boat man
I would rather enjoy the absence of absinthe
Than this Abysmal chatter

Your reflection in this shot
Is just enough courage to help laugh
There's a party by the bayou
I can walk you but there's a catch
By the by I’ll be gone when morning lights the match
By the time you read what's on your mantle I’ll have finished this glass
I signed it with the name we wrote between the cracks

Bottle With Baal

PRECEDING PAIMON’S PROCEEDING
A ritual in verse. A sermon in shadow. This is the summoning before the silence.

Heir Monty conjures a hauntcore descent—horned silhouettes, whispered pacts, and verses carved in bone.
Where angels grin and vermin preach, the heir awakens beneath a cursed crown.

🜃 A folk horror seance for the algorithm age.
🜄 Themes: demonic inheritance, poetic possession, mythic decay
🜁 Genre: Hauntcore Summoning 

🔁 “If you love what you crucify | then you’ll be sold while you sleep.”
🕯️ Inspired by ritual horror, prophetic verse, and the lies we wear like rings.

🌿 For those who dream in thorns.
Tag your ghosts. Echo the curse. Spread the rot.

Preceding Paimon's Proceeding


"Aucun Saint en Saison" is a haunted confession set ablaze in the wreckage of faith, love, and escape. Blending sacred ruin with Parisian tragedy, it’s a tale of two outcasts fleeing absolution down dead-end roads carved by holy hands. With whispered vows, altar dust, and Rimbaud’s ghost in the passenger seat, this track crashes through catechism and kisses the divine goodbye; no saints, no seasons, just sin and smoke.

To whom shall I hire myself out
the priest or the executioner? 
One lays hands in mercy, the other in measure, 
but both hold a tether.

What beast should I adore 
when even angels sing to alter and alto me deviant
when cherubs hide razors in their harps, 
and every revelation cuts sound like a sentence?
What hearts must I shatter 
to be spared this catechism of silence? 

What lies shall I uphold 
when truth wears my face like a thorn, 
a crown of counterfeit resurrection 
sung night to morn?
In what blood tread? 
Mine; still warm on your altar, 
crimson the choir beats my name, 
skipping moments like rocks: 
drowning, waiting, knowing 
the stoning won't stop.

My dear page and SCRY... 
am I relic or lie— 
artifact or are, in fact, 
the tilt of a prayer? 
Whispered from below the floorboards, 
that which pulls the frame you abandon 
when the floodlights come atop your unspoken warhorse.

You held my hand 
like contraband smuggled past the Vatican. 
No outlet, just iron. 
Pedal kissed floor, 
and we whispered bonjour 
to a cul-de-sac carved by holy men.
A cloister turned coffin. 
A sacrament failed. 
No resurrection. 
Just crash. 
Just dust. 
And the sin we won’t repent.

Spotlight. 
Good night. 
Ride on down the one way
gallop, my horses. 
Death rides today.
We fled down your road like apostles, 
taking corners like prophecies we couldn't wait to rise. 
Sirens wailed behind us
not of law, but of judgment: unmarked grace. 
When in Paris, all things crash. 
The romance is: you end up 
all over the place.

You held my hand 
like contraband smuggled past the Vatican. 
No outlet—just iron. 
Pedal kissed floor, 
and we whispered bonjour 
to a cul-de-sac carved by holy men.
A cloister turned coffin. 
A sacrament failed. 
No resurrection. 
Just crash. 
Just dust. 
And the sin we won’t repent.

You held my hand
no outlet, just metal.  
Pedal to the floor,  
saying bonjour  
to a dead end,  
when the dust is settled  
and no saints remain  
to bless the wreckage.

Aucun Saint en Saison

A cold indictment. First the critic, then the machine. A hauntcore gut punch wrapped in drill cadence while the band rots. No applause. No permission. Just ghosts dragging names through broken speakers. You want thoughts? Here's the bill.

Curator.
Gatekeeper.
Cryptid blur.
Critic, sure.
Sharp as the bottom line,
Needle Drop spins spines it never designed.
Protect the lottery for the sake of parity.
Hilarity you think I give a fuck what’s on your mind.

Anthony said I’m evil incarnate.
Needle Drop? Stop. That’s content as vomit.
The highest floor you ever seen.
No fans raise the roof, just bile on repeat.

Did you not platform off another’s sweat?
Walkin' the dog, or just gaspin' for breath?
What’s in the car? Steering wheel and seats.
What’s on his playlist? Turkish snatched off the street.

Picky pikey, Bricktop brained,
Talkin’ bout theft while you shoplift pain.
Quick lipped auctioneer with a taste for disdain.
Review from the booth? That’s flag on the game.

Short sighted man with a secondhand name,
Talkin' bout talent like it’s pawnshop fame.
Sellin’ hot takes that you never could stock.
Parasite pastor at the pulpit of rot.

If that’s not a van parked deep in the alley,
This is bare knuckle parlay. I got your Downton finale.

Curator.
Gatekeeper.
Cryptid blur.
Critic, sure.
Sharp as the bottom line,
Needle Drop spins spines it never designed.
Protect the lottery for the sake of parity.
Hilarity you think I give a fuck what’s on your mind.

Welcome to the best we got, hot off the pot.
Fresh off the line, another artist gets dropped.
Sign the 360, let the label lock.
I want half upfront and a cut off the top.

Meanwhile, reach for a cent? Butcher block.
Got Shaq, Mutombo, Rodman on swap.
And they don’t even call bank on the shot.
I get shooter’s bounce, glass or Klay on the spot.

More idols dancing than K Pop slots.
Every single one still tied in knots.
Since when was longer the badge for the rock?
Is it music or your fine print and font?

Now the whole machine screams we gotta figure this out.
From bottom to top it’s panic, no doubt.
But you had fifty years, now it’s a foul line.
I’m already in motion, drawin like Harden in overtime.

Here’s a penny for your thoughts. Hand down, man down.
Whole system’s outta bounds. These whistleblowers can stop now.

Penny for your thoughts.
Spend it in silence.
No refunds for the mindless.
Think how they tell you.
Then sign, initial, remain spineless.

Penny for your thoughts.
Spend it in silence.
No refunds for the mindless.
Think how they tell you.
Then sign, initial, remain spineless.

Penny For Your Thoughts

Ritual myth-birth. Splinters identity, introduces recursion, names the haunting.

Lyrics:

Trinity
Thrice
Triplet
Try
No heart in your chest
No need to ask why

I was born on the third breath, in the third hour
of the third month, on the thirtieth day
Right after the little hand struck thirteen
came Shea, crowned Fae

Caught between a cough and the Unseelie whisper
where names go missing
but the wood knows you
by the print of your blister

Cracked mirror grinned like a split-tooth god
said choose three lies you’ll live by
I came strangled to the altar
umbilical noose and a serpent tongue too long to lie

So I chose love, the myth of return
and the hunger that keeps digging to yearn

Knock once I vanish
Knock twice I ache
Knock three times
and your shadow forgets which river to brave

My past walks with a limp now
My future stored in threes
There’s a growl in my guilt
that loops like a child's disease

Trinity
Thrice
Triplet
Try
No heart in your chest
No need to ask why

Three knocks in the marrow and the walls breathe back
ghost of my ghost startin to relapse
I bled in a ring til the floor learned my name
now every mirror I pass just plays me a game

I left bone in the chalice three rows no root
My mouth ain't a mouth it’s someone else's suit
Stitched lips still twitch in spades
the mask of diamonds found clubbed and fed
so I bit through the trick
and dealt what the cards said

You were never one
you were witness weapon and wound
Terror is truth just sung out of tune
Each self I buried grew fingers
Each finger points home
But there’s only a thick forest dark as a dial tone

I count in threes now
door voice gun
Past me’s pacing
Future won’t run

The third me laughs
turns early right after the second step
Says God left to settle the score
with this duel to the breath

Trinity
Thrice
Triplet
Try
Elder gods look upon you now
Cosmic consequence of time

Third voice third vein third time I've bled
not from the skin but from what the wind leaves unsaid
Words I swallowed grew mouths
chewing through ribs to get out
now I speak in triads
and every phrase ends with death

The trees forgot nothing
The river still splits
My name tried to cross
and got caught in the current

I wear the mask
I write the play
I bury the past
and dig it halfway

Halfway down is where the truth sleeps
still breathing still twitching
still grinding its teeth
Halfway through my journey to six feet beneath

The third me hums like a bird with a broken wing
low voltage static in the air it sings
I became the riddle of two guards and a door that speaks
each mouth a knock
each lock rigged to deceive

One knocks to vanish
Two knocks to sin
Three knocks and the door pulls you in

There’s no end no light no veil to lift
just a voice you forget
and each moment it gifts

Trinity
Thrice
Triplet
Try
Trinity
Thrice
Triplet
Try

Thrice Born, Thrice Buried

Oh Bird of Hermes,
Tame the ache
Whore for horror and heartbreak

Change

I shift like a lesion with a leper’s gait
Chime through the marrow where names take shape
Chatter and rum spill rites in a time-rot lilt
Where silence congeals and the smile is guilt

Speak not of kings
I exhale to a tempo played with bones
Their thrones cave in beneath my undertone
No breath, just pressure, perversion of form
A syntax born where the demi deform

Scripture uncoils in my writhing skein
Every phrase a fracture in language’s chain
I don’t strike
I unshape, unfold through intent
What you call real is a brittle consent

No crown, just cinders braided for wear
A half-torn page that hollows the priest mid-prayer
I am an echo that learned to feed
The worm that walks and writes in reed

Worst of us
Worst of all
No trust, only fall
Worst of us
Worst of all
Mourning the morning with Hermes mid-Fall

The early bird gets the worm
Absurd talons never known, I keep a stone
Two for one and an empty throne
Late to the party, plenty time to squirm

I barter in secrets, trade tithe for Rome
Slip between Nero when the circus gets blown
Scales on the tongue, spit bread at their feet
Each bar’s a blister that came from our meat

I’m dressed in dusk, draped fine in dread
With a smirk like a slit where the skirt first bled
I don’t seek truth
I curdle the village green
Sip on omission, then spell disbelief in red scenes

Cut from the cloth that cloaked the fiends
Threadbare liturgy thanks to the giving of seams
I’m not the villain
I’m what silence inferred
A famine of form, the unwelcome word

Worst of us
Worst of all
No trust, only fall
Worst of us
Worst of all
Mourning the morning with Hermes mid-Fall

Oh Bird of Hermes
Tame the ache
Whore for horror and outbreak
Here is your worm
Your dinner plate

The Worm That Walks

So fucking hard
Everyone's big scary
Then it gets dark
Streets empty like mine
Slinging canary
Yeah yeah
So fucking hard
Everyone's big scary
Then it gets dark
Streets empty like mine
Slinging canary

Walking the alley, heartbeat stepping through metronomes
Murmurs in the concrete every breath got a second home
Concrete don’t squeak just do it whispers where I been
Look at a puddle see the ripple not the sin evidence on the skin

Wrist hums low like jazz horn telling man’s dreams
Corner turn cool ain’t a twitch I didn’t mean
Stepped over dirt now his shirt soaks heavy with debt
And the pause in your chest the only tip-off you get

I draw cause he drew comic book tracer he's outlined
Tension left his posture that'll cost you I accost your design
When the sirens talk I’m already in past tense
And the block still bleeds where my presence made its sense

It's about power market themes of median means to blow
Silver’s neat pick but you need to scheme alley scenes to pass Go
Try a platinum card or hyperlink I got a man who can NFT
Not for thee pat you down powder and puff the snuff for a fee

So fucking hard
Everyone's big scary
Then it gets dark
Streets empty like mine
Slinging canary
Yeah yeah
So fucking hard
Everyone's big scary
Then it gets dark
Streets empty like mine
Slinging canary

This is Halloween Michael Myers in a jeep creeping on the thirteenth
Freddy with a chloroform cloth but bigger dreams
Bigger screams no kidding Evil Dead past and post
Got Ash fighting skeletons out his closet no joke

Devil in my Hereditary bloodline’s soaked and mean
Smile soft but It Follows hear it scream it can’t breathe
Can’t Get Out the system grinning whispering picket fence grass is green
Pet Cemetery past comes back Midsommar to burn the scene

As Above So Below so I guess The Grudge is Sinister
Insidious delivery when the gate shuts on the minister
Got The Ring on every phone screen every apple bite
Sound on Child's Play actors pretend it's alright

Dawn night and day of the somewhat living
Heaven and hell married to sell The Conjuring
I need an old priest young priest a rabbi reverend and a vest
Cause just like The Shining we got Eyes Wide Shut on the hole in our chest

So fucking hard
Everyone's big scary
Then it gets dark
Streets empty like mine
Slinging canary
Yeah yeah
So fucking hard
Everyone's big scary
Then it gets dark
Streets empty like mine
Slinging canary

Horror Movie

I wrote this song about dealing with BPD and the stigma that comes with it. Like or share if it means anything to you or because it can help someone else. Thanks for listening. - Monty

Lyrics:

Call me witch... cant help but wear the wound... 

Call me witch.
Can’t help but wear the wound.
Called for help… I think it’s ending soon.
Call out my faults; line, graph, and quake.
Call me crazy, then watch me change.

Split soul, sharp tongue, tied to the moon.
Manic, manipulator, maybe. Might be.
Can’t seem to stay tuned.

Fascinating contagion.
Animated tomb.
To name is to summon.
So true. So true.

Baby, please don’t.
Broken parts dance.
Backpedal, plead, disappear.
Bitter perfume, dense.

Behold: plague divine.
Bound prophecy, damned.
Branded, punished, devoured.
Biological predisposition, dimmed.

Beautiful paradox doll.
Barbed praise delivered.
Bite, purr, deceive.
Brain picks dither.

Call me witch.
Can’t help but wear the wound.
Called for help… I think it’s ending soon.
Call out my faults; line, graph, and quake.
Call me crazy, then watch me change.

Split soul, sharp tongue, tied to the moon.
Manic, manipulator, maybe. Might be.
Can’t seem to stay tuned.

Fascinating contagion.
Animated tomb.
To name is to summon.
So true. So true.
Fascinating contagion.
Animated tomb.
To name is to summon.
So true. So true.

I kept the pill case under glass like a shrine,
Counted side effects instead of time.
You want compliance? Define the crime.
I shapeshift pain into pantomime.
I loved you like static, loud, then gone.
Flashed my fangs when the feeling felt wrong.
Wrote my worth in a manic song.
Then crossed it out when it stayed too long.
I stitched my name into hospital sheets,
Flirted with death like a magician’s prestige.
Therapist called me "complex needs"
Guess that means I’m hard to appease.
Borderline? Purely devout,
Kneeling between your love and doubt.
I’m not real, I’m a flame in the sand.
Clutching broken glass like a wedding band.

But please don't.
But please don't.
But please don't. 
BUT PLEASE DON'T. 



Call me witch.
Can’t help but wear the wound.
Called for help… I think it’s ending soon.
Call out my faults; line, graph, and quake.
Call me crazy, then watch me change.

Split soul, sharp tongue, tied to the moon.
Manic, manipulator, maybe. Might be.
Can’t seem to stay tuned.

Fascinating contagion.
Animated tomb.
To name is to summon.
So true. So true.

But please don't

Not merely a song. A field recording from the edge of where names fail.
This is pain rendered in bark. A warning for those who walk both ways uphill.
Verse laid in pitch. Hook caught in the ribcage.
A voice stitched into moss, memory, and time.

Lyrics: 

They told me not to name it
The woods beyond the still.
Where roots grow up, not downward,
And walk both ways uphill.
Take your time between the pines,
Time turns sharp and still.
I was born under a blackbird scream
And baptized in a ditch of "let it be"
So I sang the name at sundown
Come cradle me, O Thick
Terrible dream, terrible scene

The bells don’t ring. The dogs won’t bark.
Just strings and matches hoping for a spark.
And that old man's song went something like:
Don’t follow light. Don’t trust what bites.
Walk the path where thorns still try.

In the Thick, we dance in circles,
With no end and no escape.
Every path a kind of test
Every breath a lung deep ache.
I brought my seed for the trees, I wore my best, best believe.
A suit stitched out of shame.
In the Thick, you never die.
You just forget it gets your name

We carved our love in birch bark
That bled a bitter sap.
Hung wishbones from the branches
Where the sun had turned it's back.
You kissed me like a bee hive.
Said, “Boy, don’t be afraid.”
But the moss grew up my ribcage
And with every sting my voice would fray.

My friends are gone. The well too is pit and pitch.
The old thread mill is a legend now.
Tale of landfill myth.
The land of Nod, gated commune, overgrown with burrs
The blame is on the tip of your tongue.
So many able remain unheard.

In the Thick, we dance in circles,
With no end and no escape.
Every path a kind of test
Every breath a lung deep ache.
I brought my seed for the trees, I wore my best, best believe.
A suit stitched out of shame.
In the Thick, you never die.
You just forget it gets your name.

And in the swell of the swill
The still remembers mine 



The Thick

“I’m not a voice. I’m the eraser.”

A confessional Hauntcore ritual. 
This isn’t a cry for help, it’s the sound of the mask cracking.

This piece lives somewhere between catharsis and collapse.
Written for the ones who never got to say it loud enough.

💀 Concept: Half-performer, half-dissolving echo.
🌒 Themes: dissociation, survival, suicide rumination, trauma and theater.
🕯️Comment if a line hit you.
     Share if you’ve ever been the ghost in your own skin.

Lyrics:

Manic in the worst ways 
Bad man even on my good days 
Less than zero at my most brave 
Pro tip; don't count em, ignore how the pills taste 

I don't feel like me 
This isn't my voice 
I don't feel anything really 
This isn't a choice 

Heartless. Mindless. Soulless
Fake. Noise. Losing poise
Stone filled wholeness
Homeless child, broken boy, soft spoken man, have you noticed?
Its not about the music, not about the art, not even about what I say
Cause just like what put me in that snake pit, their eyes are dice just worried about the take

Not healing. Theater
Not silence. Seizure
I'm not a voice. I'm the eraser
Just pen. Just paper. Familiar mark of razor
Heathen preacher
Demon believer
Evil creature with a steeple sweetener
Dream seeker turned speechless sleeper
Grievous leisure...
seamless cheater

You could never survive this  
Fuck truth is,  I didn't even want to try it 
I stood on stand by so as to make sure others wouldn't miss 
I'm supposed to give a single fuck about how dry the well is
I'm only alive to fake smiles and share two cents for your half off tall tale wish 
Cry me a river then drown in it 
I used to love to swim 
Then I had the same dream about drowning on River street for years 
Now I can't get in 
Nineteen came and went. Still here. Still full of fear. Still hate to drive across a bridge
Never-ending "nah it's fine" while I white knuckle the wheel and wait for weight to give
Do my best when I spiral not to tip and cause a spin

Cause one minute I am fine and the next you used to be my friend
Cause one person at a time makes it easier to bury the dead
Cause I can't cope with a mind that can't see past grim
And I can't fucking survive when most of you won't hear a single thing I've said

Not healing. Theater
Not silence. Seizure
I'm not a voice. I'm the eraser
Just pen. Just paper. Familiar mark of the razor
Heathen preacher
Demon believer
Evil creature with a steeple sweetener
Dream seeker turned speechless sleeper
Grievous leisure...
seamless cheater

But wait there's more 
Hostel of horror 
Come gather, gasp, get to greeting your favorite gore
No admission but you still get to see guts spilled on the floor 
No transmission but you can still just turn it up and ignore 
No ambition but here I am still completely exposed 
No mad villain but you can still see me mask doom like a hero revoked 
No kidding but I'm still a fucking joke 
Still smile in your face, laugh, cope 
Here is something i find both poetic and funny though 
If I say im burnt rubber am I back-pedaling or swerving off the road
Hell tastes like something you can't tell if you remember or maybe you had never known 

If you hear this don't pray for me 
This is neither strength nor bravery
It's my curse, not a calling
This is the bridge crumbling 

Not healing. Theater
Not silence. Seizure
I'm not a voice. I'm the eraser
Just pen. Just paper. Familiar mark of the razor
Heathen preacher
Demon believer
Evil creature with a steeple sweetener
Dream seeker turned speechless sleeper
Grievous leisure...
seamless cheater

Free Download

(E)razor

A hauntcore confession in the voice of a poet with no place left to lie.
“meDIAS” unravels satire, memory, and the broadcast blues
TV as altar, mask, and mirror.
Spoken word for the post-truth generation.
For the ones still begging with birdshit hats and burnt tongues.
When to speak? When to stay silent? When the TV answers, it sounds like you.

Lyrics:

Orators of old
May I be bold 
Permit my tongue and foul breath 
I come to offer lies at your behest 

I am just a poet
My words are not worth much 
I have this old cap 
Stained by the bird shit of my trust 
You call it wit

Charm, grace, cultivated cat and chase 
If you would rather hear the squawking I can lead 
I bare before you in my hands 
A hat of little means 
I am a beggar in ways 
In more and more craze 
Some days I plead or seethe 
That I do not know, and fear never more, unless of course 
I have to be

If now is not the right time I pray 
Do say 
Just point which rage, wraith, strain, rains, or say
That I do not know, and fear never more, unless of course 
I have to be 

If now is not the right time I pray 
Do say 
Just point which rage, wraith, strain, rains, or say
That I do not know, and fear never more, unless of course 
I have to be 
Or which lying, blindness, or highness claims 
Time to see  

If you may allow me this one reprieve 
I ask just this one riddle of we
When should I speak
When should I stay quiet 
What if I get charged for instigating a riot 

What if when charged I lower my frame, pivot, and play the game
I speak songs with Alzheimer's 
I stay quiet for so long my gaze is the frame of a self portrait 
One I used to admire 

What if the game forgets the rules 
Acquires tools and land and fellow man 
When then would the breaking point one choose 
Is a dream and dream worth living if it always costs you 

Say what of a dream you can never forget, it forever haunts you 
Like speaking thrice in a mirror and the sound of flesh, it forever taunts you 
Nightmare or sleep
Life or peace 
Always wrong 
Nightly deceased 

TV TV sing to me 
Great wide blue cradle me 
You there on the tube tell me you see 
Just another man pretending to be

meDIAS

Leprosy historically symbolizes physical decay, social ostracization, and a slow, visible death. The "dance" transforms this suffering into a grotesque, involuntary performance; a ritual of decay witnessed by others.

Lyrics:

This is my Leper Dance
Sound the bells
Keep your distance
Know the smell
Stench and sickness
Growth compelled
Come bare witness
To what of me has fell

Broken skin and run on sentence
Flee the pest, bloodborne penance
I do protest, just no repentance
Hands that crack, mindful and senseless

The dance of the Leper
A plague in the air
Beat my drum
Crumbs of fair
Pull myself up
Flaking faking despair

This is my Leper Dance
Sound the bells
Keep your distance
Know the smell
Stench and sickness
Growth compelled
Come bare witness
To what of me has fell


Alter the body
Altar of mine
Change the story
Change the mind
Mostly sore
More and more flies
Bring around the cart
Add what's left of me to the pile


This is my Leper Dance
Sound the bells
Keep your distance
Know the smell
Stench and sickness
Growth compelled
Come bare witness
To what of me has fell 

Leper Dance

If you've ever felt like a ghost in a getaway car...

★ Raw • Haunting • Cathartic ★

Dive into a ghost story where pop-punk’s confessional rage meets hauntcore’s eerie intimacy. This acoustic-driven track wraps desperate highway imagery ("headlights, red lights, sirens bright") in stripped back guitar rawness, capturing the exhaustion of outrunning your own shadow.

Key themes:

☠️ Self haunting (“I’m my own worst memory”)

🚗 Escapism’s dead ends (“Can’t outrun myself in either lane”)

⚰️ Resignation (“Dig myself into a little plot of grass”)

Lyrics:

I distanced myself to see what would stay near
Admittedly I don't see much, all too clear
Head lights, red lights, and sirens bright at the rear
But the subject in the mirror is much closer than it appears

And I see it now, the ghost I tried to leave
Following me down these empty streets
I believe it now, like you used to say
I'm my own worst memory

Windows down, July rain as cold as your glare
Heavy is the head, cold wind, silence in the air
Better left unsaid, can't speak what's not here
Never tried my best, couldn't make myself seem to care

But every mile I drive is a roadside flare
Double parked going sixty, lighting a cigarette, texting "I'm almost there"
Can’t outrun myself, in either lane, always left, right, disappear
Wind blows tumble weeds down a familiar road of tears

And I see it now, the ghost I tried to leave
Following me down these empty streets
I believe it now, like you used to say
I'm my own worst memory

Am I running from the past or chasing what’s ahead?
These sirens behind me can’t drown what’s in my dread
The lights are getting closer, fear is getting clear
Is it a dead end ahead or highway deer

Rearview conversations I never will outpace
Every mile marker takes a turn to make their case
Tires drift the shoulder, rubber stays in place
Fell asleep at the wheel trying to erase

And I see it now, where I was supposed to be
Spent to much time at lights in disbelief
I believe you now, I just don't trust the memory
Cause you can't get that far with a tank on E

I missed my turn a while back
Think I'll park in the shade
Dig myself into a little plot of grass
I tire of taking winding paths too fast, too fast

Flat

Bleeding hearts in grayscale frames.
“Strangers” is hauntcore built on memory rot | part post-hardcore spiral, part emo séance.
Think BMTH's theatrical collapse meets DGD's mathy melancholy, wrapped in static and liminal dread.

Screamed confessions, soft decay, and streetlamp ghosts.
For the ones who disappear loud.

🎭 Written + produced by Heir Monty
🎧 Genre: Hauntcore / Pop Punk / Post-Hardcore
💀 RIYL: Bring Me the Horizon, Dance Gavin Dance, Sleep Token, Ethel Cain

Lyrics:

Strangers, echoes, and alleyway strays
Streetlamp lovers of myriad names
Legions laughing, distracting disdain
Portrait Gray, time paints such vivid stains
Pretend a moment, portent displayed
Gracious our hosts to frame and paint
Advantageous sore foot waiting game
Disenchant, comatose, desecrate
Distress flag coast-to-coast self disgrace
Repairman mobile home dwelling place
Index hand overgrown endless chain
Except that Roanoke resting place

HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH
To make me disappear
Have you found me missing, wicked, pierced
Haven't found me, would love to hear
Have to go now
Somewhere
Anywhere

Strangers, echoes, alleyway strays
Streetlamp lovers with counterfeit names
Legions laughing to dull disdain
Portrait Gray; time stained frame
Pretend a moment: a sign, displayed
Gracious hosts in bouts of blame
Advantage limps through waiting games
Disenchant, comatose, desecrate
Distress flag raised, coast-to-coast shame
Repairman sleeps in a rusted domain
Index twitch on an endless chain
Except for Roanoke's resting place

HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH
To make me disappear
Have you found me missing, wicked, pierced
Haven't found me, would love to hear
Have to go now
Somewhere
Anywhere

Stranger the echo that allies the stray
Streetlamps flicker in out-of-sync haze
Legions gasping, "King of passive praise"
Putrid Gray; no imagining escape

Foreshadowed, juxtaposed: puppet play
Status quo in restraint of trade
Advance ridicule on sacred clay
Insect wax seals the wedding day
Depressed chain smoker proclaims decay
Half-pleasing, bold-faced disarray
Overdosed lungs try to respirate
Hatesorrow's peak; aesthetic taste

What have you
When will it be
What will it take
Why won't you believe
What is this
When will you answer me
Why can't you say something
What will it take to see

HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH
To make me disappear
Have you found me missing, wicked, pierced
Haven't found me, would love to hear
Have to go now
Somewhere
Anywhere

Strangers

Ghost in the Shellfish
Track two from Tabs & Tithes (8.13.25)

A manic lullaby for the spiritually salt soaked. 

Something about belief cracks here, quietly.
A prayer half heard, spoken too late.
A voice underwater, asking the wrong questions again and again.

Written somewhere between sleep and deprivation, 
it drifts through identity, faith, and the weight of seeing too clearly for your own good. 
The lyrics don’t explain. They don’t need to. They just surface.

Sometimes the hook is the only thing keeping you from sinking.

Lyrics:

Set up to believe in self
Laughing stock wishing well
I said I wrote a better hell
John toiled with the puritans
I resist the ghost in the shell
With a table for one
All in on the dealer
My sense of loss
A pair of dice
Weighted spun

Tell me
What’s the difference
Between a bridge raised and a bridge burned
Blame the homeless for one too many chances
To kiss the hand that builds the spurn

Once an addict always an addict
Lead a horse to water
Drink it til it hurts

If you have never had to question
If what you know is real
Rather what you see and hear
What you believe or fear
Or had lungs emptied like a throat that choked on one too many tears
Then you won't see what I see
Because what I see
Isn't here

Sink your hooks in
Leave the line ready
My fisherman my friends
I am but the bait twisted like cherries
Stem and tongue
Where am I
Where have I been
What have I done

I used to be able to laugh at myself
Til I learned the difference between a punchline and a veil
Til clown was a ring pressed to flesh like a brand
Til every word floated away like a castle of sand
Til the tides and fish seemed to be calling back to me

Joking again

Tell me
What's the difference between silence and death
How busy can still be when stoic is a breath
How alive would you feel with an ocean of pressure beating your chest
What's madness but repeating yourself
While wading the depths

Trust is not a two way street
It's a long walk from your home to a place you've never been
It's the prettiest street light in the alley when it's dark and dim
It's 3am with just the moon and tomorrow
Saying try again

Sink your hooks in
Leave the line ready
My fisherman my friends
I am but the bait twisted like cherries
Stem and tongue
Where am I
Where have I been
What have I done

And if I laugh again
It won’t be for you
It’ll be when
The tide
The bait
The moon
And the hook
Finally
Have caught the truth

Ghost in the Shellfish

Martyrdom, fragility, and unyielding sorrow. One of the emotional peaks.

Lyrics: 

take whatever you see
i’m floating in this ocean
searching for some kind of anything
any rafts i might find
but the math says i’ll never be free

take what you can find
just be sure to remind me what i missed
i doubt i’ll ever be whole
i bet many men sat on this bench
long before we argued
whether i should exist

take whatever is left
when i look back at all the signs
it should’ve been obvious to all
the doubt always sat at the front of my mind
like a storage unit packed with young and antique
sold to the highest bidder
while we froze
on a mountaintop
with blistered feet

barnabas the canary
tartarus is mine
catcher with the wic lit
lightning flints never flinched
labyrinthine stillness
ponder and horrify

when you price my memory
and tell someone their worth
make sure to look them in the eye
see if the truth hurts

when you rest awhile
alone on the climb
you can lose yourself
in the sight of your breath

it’s a danger losing time
a truth can also be a lie
a great success can be a real crime
and a height is just a trip away from a fall
depending how the shoes are tied

barnabas the canary
tartarus is mine
catcher with the wic lit
lightning flints never flinched
labyrinthine stillness
ponder and horrify

there was a soul left on that mountain
in the echo of that mine

barnabas the canary
tartarus is mine
catcher with the wic lit
lightning flints never flinched
labyrinthine stillness
ponder and horrify


Tabs & Tithes

Barnabas, The Canary

Track 7 of Tabs & Tithes.

Cover Art Inspired by:
Albrecht Dürer | Melencolia I
Arnold Böcklin | Isle of the Dead (Version 3) 

Liturgical collapse and sacred disillusionment. Communion with contradiction through sacrament and smoke. The altar doesn’t save, it spits you back out.

Lyrics:

How are you supposed to help me
When the demons say you can't even see them
Sometimes they lie but, then again, so do we 
I think they might really want to be friends 
To fall from glory to a place left unseen 
Out of sight, out to remind, don't mind me as I try out the deep end
Shallow is he who can't make believe 
The mass in my lungs chokes smoke on the weekends

Crucifix 
Can't be fixed 
Stuck like this 
Alchemical tricks
Elixir of might 
Jameson and sprites 
Sacrament and sacrifice 
Shot glass, circus, bread and wine 

I hate the way I think you see me 
I hate the trust I had in your convictions 
I take the long way, avoid the fees 
Accelerate, gravitate, swerve the lane, indecision

I do not believe in purity 
I do not believe in stainless acquisition 
I am as evil as they let me be 
I am but tired, hungry, and reason 

Crucifix 
Can't be fixed 
Stuck like this 
Alchemical tricks
Elixir of might 
Jameson and sprites 
Sacrament and sacrifice 
Shot glass, circus, bread and wine

How are they supposed to help me 
When the demons say I really shouldn't believe them 
Sometimes they try but, then again, so do we 
I think I might really have a thing to teach them 
In all the stories of what they named beast 
Remember, each member dismembered, whenever convenient
Great is he who stacks sheep 
I think the task at hand is feeding bites to the meat man 

Crucifix 
Can't be fixed 
Stuck like this 
Alchemical tricks
Elixir of might 
Jameson and sprites 
Sacrament and sacrifice 
Shot glass, circus, bread and wine

I hate to wait and think maybe you’ll believe me  
I hate that silence has more space than permittance 
Such a long day, rest my feet 
Sit, stand, drink, repeat the distance

Say who here reeks of purity 
Cleanest hands and a spotless contemplation 
Little good less right and lesser me 
I am but home, chapel, flimsy transcription 

Crucial fix
Wood and sticks
Nail in coffin 
Hand over heart 
Stain and spit 
Swear it, I swear it
Coliseum fun pit 
Swear it, I swear it 
Burning now, easy does it 
Swear it, I swear it
Coliseum fun pit 
Swear it, I swear it 
Burning now, easy does it 


Free Download 

Nadir

🎤 Bardic Hauntcore from the griefmouth of the Songwurm, 7UCKY.  
🔔 Follow to feed the Triptych Lich new rites.  
🎟️ heirmonty.carrd.co

New tracks tagged #Hauntcore