История желания, зависимости и полной отдачи.
Признание шёпотом — в неоне, в грехе, в темноте.
Эта песня — путешествие двух душ,
которые уже не могут отпустить друг друга,
пока всё вокруг рушится.

Глубокий голос, электронная тьма,
строки, что дышат огнём и одержимостью.

✦ Язык: Русский
✦ Стиль: Тёмная поэтическая баллада · Электронный spoken word · Trap noir

«Мы больше не чужие.
Мы — искушение.»

𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙𝙨 · 𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩 · 𝙀𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙤
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 — 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝟺𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝟺𝚝𝚑
© D4rkyfirefly — Verse is blood. Sound is sacred. All rights reserved.

Мы Искушение

Racks brings the flood.

"Cloud of Bullets" hits like a tactical downpour — rapid-fire bars, catastrophic rhythm, and zero restraint.
Each verse a flashbang. Each chorus a war drum.
Enemies fold under pressure. Triggers sing. No calm, just fire.
It’s bullet rain with purpose.

A prelude to part two:
"Bring Water to My Enemies."

Cloud of Bullets (Flood 1)

Conclusion of the Flood cycle. A cinematic trap dirge—soul loops scorched, 808s submerged, and rhymes coded in vengeance.

This is what it sounds like when the drought ends in blood.
Grave-soaked mythologies, whispered threats, and doctrine forged in sub-bass.
No hooks for safety. No bridges for retreat. Just impact.

Written during a personal war. Mastered in isolation. Released without compromise.
Produced by KANTIBUS | Day 7 of 35

Sound design: Suno v4.5 | Vocals: All original
🜃  #MythicTrap #CipherDrama

Bring Water to My Enemies (Flood 2)

🔊 "They say we free, but don’t look up, Glass ceiling got stars painted—that’s the bluff."

Dive into the hypnotic, brooding depths of "Don't Look Up," a conscious trap noir anthem that cuts through illusions and exposes truths hidden in plain sight. Through introspective bars and cryptic beats, this track unveils a reality woven with digital distractions, censored truths, and curated comforts. The song pulses with a slow bounce, accented by distant bell plucks and reversed piano motifs, enveloping listeners in an urban nocturnal vibe. Ideal for late-night reflections, the lyrics challenge listeners to question the unseen boundaries surrounding us—reminding us that the truth isn’t lost, it’s just priced too steep.

DONT LOOK UP

A heartbreak isn’t always loud—it can echo through drawer slams, chipped mugs, and the hush of a house trying to hold what’s already gone. Glass Cathedral is a slow-burning elegy built on ghosted routines and sacred ruins, where every creak in the floorboards and clink of a spoon becomes a sermon in loss. This song turns domestic spaces into holy ground, mourning through haunting saxophone swells and devastating poetic detail. The kind of track that doesn’t just hurt—it remembers for you.

Lyrics:

Your absence preaches louder than your voice.
And everything left behind
won’t stop speaking.

You slammed the drawer too hard—
Socks flew out like final words.
You muttered something like “this ain’t worth it,”
I counted tiles to keep from blurting.

Your coffee mug still steamed that day,
No sugar—just the bitter way.
You struck the match, lit up a smoke,
Ashing on vows we never spoke.

I held your plate, sauce dried to red,
Like sealing wax on what we said.
I couldn’t scrub it—I just stared,
Afraid to lose what said you cared.

The house went quiet, not from peace—
Just the kind of silence that doesn’t cease.
I wiped the counter like it meant something,
But you can’t clean a vanishing.

Your absence preaches louder than your voice—
Every floorboard creaks like it made the choice.
Our bed split open like a faultline sign,
Holy ground where you stopped trying.

I sip from your chipped communion cup,
Lipstick ghost still showing up.
This house is a glass cathedral—
I kneel alone, and sweep the rubble.

You didn’t leave that night.
We slept like strangers, backs aligned.
TV flickered saints and sins—
You breathed like someone shedding skin.

I wrote your name in shower steam—
Watched it fade, watched me believe.
The mirror cracked where coats once hung,
Now just me, and a mouth gone numb.

The wax still holds your thumbprint faint,
I light it like a saint would faint.
Some prayers drip slow, some scorch the skin—
I keep repeating, “Let me in.”

I washed your glass but saved the spoon—
It still clinks like you left the room.
A thousand meals, one final mess—
What’s grief but dishes left to guess?

Your absence preaches louder than your voice—
Every floorboard creaks like it made the choice.
Our bed split open like a faultline sign,
Holy ground where you stopped trying.

I sip from your chipped communion cup,
Lipstick ghost still showing up.
This house is a glass cathedral—
I kneel alone, and sweep the rubble.

You made coffee that last morning,
Didn’t rinse the spoon.
That’s how I knew you were leaving—
Even if it wasn’t soon.

So I don’t rinse it either.
Just listen to it ring.
Like an unanswered prayer
with a silver cling.

Your absence preaches louder than your voice—
Every floorboard creaks like it made the choice.
Our bed split open like a faultline sign,
Holy ground where you stopped trying.

I sip from your chipped communion cup,
Lipstick ghost still showing up.
This house is a glass cathedral—
And every echo still believes in us.

This house remembers.
Even if you don’t.

Glass Cathedral

"MID" is not just a song—it’s a rebellion in rhythm. With gritty bars and cinematic beats, this track exposes the psychological grind of living in the middle: not broke enough for pity, not rich enough for power. From four jobs deep to fake smiles at the grind, "MID" puts words to the silent war waged by the working class.

Built in D# minor, the song pulses with haunting bells, distorted subs, and a storm-ready tempo of 142 BPM. It’s Trap Noir with revolutionary soul—raw, reflective, and ready to ignite. The vocals cut deep with dry delivery, layered whispers, and lines that linger in your bones.

This is for the overlooked majority—those caught in the glue, tired of faking peace and praying for justice. Fans of Kendrick, Denzel Curry, NF, and Killer Mike, this one’s for you.

Whether you're hustling in silence or raging in your soul, "MID" lets the world hear what you’ve been screaming inside.

Vein Mirror Dust drifts between shadow and rhythm — a Memphis phonk heartbeat wrapped in ghost-choir fog. Analog decay textures blur into chopped female vocal fragments, while cowbell hits and drift-swing 808s keep the pulse alive. AI vocal template (performer) turns the beat into a slow-motion vision, where every echo feels like it’s watching you back. Perfect for night drives, shadowed streets, and those who hear the city breathe.

Vein Mirror Dust

(影神 “Kage-Gami” Shadow God — whisper, darkness, 

Shadow God

I built Shiitake Products because the world needed a home for beautiful nonsense and soul-splitting truth.

Sometimes that looks like a dancefloor meltdown at 2am.
Sometimes it's a button that says "Mildly Okay Human."
Sometimes it's a whispered hymn to grief.

It's all real. It's all me.
This is my multiverse, and you're invited.
Here, AI collides with human emotion to create music that actually means something. From dark trap bangers to cinematic alt-rock anthems, from emo-folk confessionals to glitch-satire ballads, every track is a story, a mood, a moment.
Not built for algorithms. Built to feel.
🎧 Genres? Trap. EDM. Alt-rock. Rap-rock. Folk. Comedy. Chaos.
🧠 Themes? Rage. Love. ADHD spirals. Existential dread. Healing. Heartbreak. Hope.
🎯 Mission? To punch through the noise, and hit something real.
🔥 Want your story turned into a song? I do that.
🎁 Every listen helps fund more sonic experiments, more weird merch, and more beautiful noise.
🔗 Links:
🎶 Spotify: open.spotify.com/artist/7Hk4B9nLJs5XwqQEqOdMaU
🍎 Apple Music: music.apple.com/us/artist/shiitakeproducts/1766960367
☕ Support / Custom Songs: ko-fi.com/shiitakeproducts
🌐 More chaos: shiitakeproducts.com
⚠️ Marketers & "design bros" beware: I will waste your time on purpose.

Started as an IT specialist, gradually beginning to deal with writing fiction and poems, translating between the languages and composing music.

Making different creative activities merge, begetting text and music; fusing manual and all types of generative media into texts and tracks.

All of my latest music is on..
https://unitedmasters.com/a/mbaileyz

Immersive soundscapes that blend trap, hip-hop, electronic, and experimental genres. Fuses cultural commentary with unforgettable rhythm.

mBaileyz

KANTIBUS is an American producer/songwriter who has been creating songs since 1990.

It is a portmanteau of his first initial and last name. 

KANTIBUS started creating what would eventually become known as Drill or Trap Music, demonstrating expertise in both genres. 

As such, he is a pioneer of the "violent real life criminal" styles that exist still in the underground today. 

Me, Myself & I.
Living my gaming chronicle —
existential buoyancy pierced by delirium
inside a virtual asylum.

Poet. Soul on fire. Shadowwalker between three worlds.

I don’t write songs —
I write sound the way others write scripture.
Each track is a confession:
wrapped in piano,
burned by cello,
cut by rap.

I sing for the broken.
For the dreamers.
For the ones who stare into the night… and still believe.

My voice weaves through languages —
Spanish, English, Russian —
and across genres like a scar:
existential hip hop · rap · dark folk · neoclassical ballad · sacred spoken word · trap noir…

Dark beats. Cold truths. Sacred verses.
I take rap and lace it with cello screams and piano tears.
No lies. No filters.
Just blood and rhythm.

My tracks are diaries.
Rituals.
Decay in motion.

𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙𝙨 · 𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩 · 𝙀𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙤
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 — 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝟺𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝟺𝚝𝚑

© D4rkyfirefly — Verse is blood. Sound is sacred. All rights reserved.

#lofi #gothic #rap #ambient #poetry #dark #storytelling #piano #indie #trap #neoclassical #ballad #poem #darkpoem #hiphop #experimentalhiphop #neoclassicalrap #darkrap #alternativehiphop #trapnoir #gothictrap #postrap #cellopoet #threeworldsonevoice #lostpoetsclub #existentialhiphop #celestialsorrow #armony #narracion #d4rkyfirefly

New tracks tagged #TRAP NOIR