A gothic heavy metal vigil where a bass voiced narrator haunts the space beside a sleeper, turning silence into a kingdom of unspoken words. Riffs, organ, and choir trace an arc from possessive certainty to unraveling grief, as memory fades and obsession outlives flesh.
A searing Act I I where dawn becomes a rival and the sun a thief, Jealous of the Morning Sun wields E‑minor gallops, organ and choir to score a bass voiced lament. Night keeps the secret; daylight steals it, as the narrator admits, “ I lose you twice,” and resigns to a world he cannot enter.
A rebel anti anthem where comfort becomes a velvet shackle, this proto metal/garage rocker turns screens and paperwork into symbols of soft control, climbing from cynical unease to a defiant vow that you will never own the flame, all amid fuzz, grit, and a ringing coda.
A neon soaked panopticon anthem where chains, stains, and borrowed light frame a fight for opacity. Fuzzed proto metal and a rich contralto drive an arc from surveillance dread to collective defiance the city watches back, but the sparks refuse to die.
A blistering proto‑metal broadside where ignored warnings become policy. Fuzz soaked riffs, a commanding contralto lead, and vivid imagery of datafication and “electric prayer” drive an arc from dread to defiance—asking who owns the eyes, the records, and the truth.
