I move in a direction not my own
Backward path around a distant host
Like this
I was not formed where I now belong
Captured late and locked below
Like this
The surface freezes
Light strikes ice
Nitrogen breaks into flight
Like this
Count my mass
Count my age
Nothing here was planned

My core is cold
But my skin reacts
A sudden flash of sun
And the ground exhales
White jets
They rise from me
I don’t decide
I don’t decide
T
R
I
T
O
N

I answer light with pressure release
Seasonal heat wakes buried gas
Do you?
Picture me born in another place
Would I still turn the wrong way?
Do you?
And who defines what counts as home?
Here I stay, still bound
Don’t you?
All I know
Is I was taken
My motion is not desire

My core is cold
But my skin reacts
A sudden flash of sun
And the ground exhales
White jets
They rise from me
I don’t decide
I don’t decide
T
R
I
T
O
N

Why am I moving backward
When I did not choose
Why am I held in orbit
When I was pulled inside

My core is cold
But my skin reacts
A sudden flash of sun
And the ground exhales
White jets
They rise from me
I don’t decide
I don’t decide
T
R
I
T
O
N

Triton doesn't decide

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

I use every tool available, human or machine, as an instrument.
Technology doesn’t replace creativity. It expands it.

Triton doesn't decide

Terminalose