Dark and ritualistic. Built on a slow hum and heartbeat kick, layered vocals chant like a ceremony. Metallic percussion echoes like chains, and glitch textures simulate fractured memory. The drop arrives like collapsing stone, heavy and dramatic. A meditation on spirit trapped in matter.

Neon Highways

The Pyramid Prison

The title track, both a love song and an anthem to Tokyo itself. Vocals describe kisses in digital twilight, while the drop feels like acceleration down an infinite road. Side-chained bass simulates motion, and shimmering pads paint rain-slick asphalt. Both intimate and euphoric.

An instrumental shaped by shimmering arpeggios and wide pads. Its rising build and euphoric climax create the sensation of memories dissolving into speed. Even without lyrics, it conveys nostalgia and acceleration.

Memory Fade

“2068: Return the Earth” emerges as a stark cinematic vision, born from the union of Earth-616 and Zubida under the banner of 12.3 Khz. The track drifts in minimal dark techno textures, where metallic pulses and spectral whispers sketch a future both fragile and immense. Voices unfold like fractured prophecies: towers against soil, machines against roots, humanity confronted with its forgotten origin. In this radio version, every beat is a signal, every silence a fracture, as if techno itself becomes the language of those who came to reclaim what was once theirs. This collaboration is not just a track but a signal of what may grow into a full shared album, expanding the cinematic horizons of both artists.

2068: Return the Earth

Zero Two Seven is DA-PHONK’s encrypted odyssey. A cyber-myth where vocoded voices confess across collapsing timelines. Heavy bass collides with glitching arpeggios as cosmic echoes unravel between alien empires and forgotten codes. A track that turns raw phonk energy into a paradox of silence, neon, and fate.

Lyrics :

Verse 1

There… beneath my Beskar skin,
Lives a lucid future within.
Zero two seven carved in steel,
Across my chest, a code surreal.

A formula sung by Traveler Gods,
Passed to the Klingon angels, flawed.
Unearthed by demons dressed as men,
Mix of magic, xenotech again.

Chorus

Here comes that hyper-eternal time,
I confess inside my tesseract’s line.
Shall I speak to me, or let it lie?
Will I unveil the truth I tried to hide?

Verse 2

I know I’m no Mandalorian kind,
Not Romulan blood, nor Vulcan mind.
But I have fought the Empire’s end,
And twice I watched the world descend.

No phone-box spinning through the void,
I never touched inhuman artifact.
It hung between Kronos and Naboo,
Bio-forged from Thanagar, Sakaar too.

Chorus

Here comes that meta-celestial time,
I confess inside my tesseract’s line.
Shall I speak to me, or let it lie?
Will I unveil the truth I can’t deny?

Final Verse

At last I crossed the orbit of silence,
Where comets bleed equations of alliance.
No throne, no relic, no blade to claim,
Only the paradox that wears my name.

Stars collapse in binary rhyme,
Time rewinds yet skips through time.
The secret isn’t empire, war or crown,
I was the algorithm breaking down.

Zero Two Seven

A warning disguised as a beat, eerie pads with sub bass knocking like someone at the door.

Dr0pit

Don’t Open

Minimal but deadly, built on pounding 808s and ghostly chops.

Drop It

A conversation turned into a sub bass confession, robotic yet intimate.

She Said

Fragmented beat, chopped in four, hypnotic repetition and spectral pads.

Machines chop the beat into vowels and glitches, a synthetic storm of bass.

AI Blender

KAWAII KICK TO THE FACE!

Born in the deep pulse of Georgia, USA, TrapGhost are a young couple who treat trap as both ritual and rebellion. Their music is not just bass and beats, it is haunted storytelling where Southern grit collides with futuristic sound design. Raised on the legacy of Atlanta’s trap pioneers yet drawn to the shadows of underground EDM, they carve a sound that is both intimate and spectral. Dark pads drift like memories, robotic vocal chops confess like ghosts in the night, and every 808 they drop feels like a heartbeat echoing under purple fog. For TrapGhost, trap is not a genre but a séance, a way of summoning love, loss, and survival from the other side of silence.

Don’t Open

Trapgh0st