Titan

You’re obstinate, contrarian, electrical-storm proletarian and the fire that’s keeping me warm is burning to cinders the secrets rescinding the war. Nefarious, sarcastically fucking gregarious, and I’m frayed, I’m tired, I’m flayed, I’ve tried and I’ve failed, so I’m walking away. Shut up. There’s no end on this page for my succubus-cum-necrophage. Every word trephinates the skull you emptied of joy and tried to replace with your void, your saccharine and frivolous noise. You’re a mannequin modeled off harridans hung for their poise, and their ploys. One if by land, two if by sea, three if the monarch’s here and she’s bending the knee. Bastards, yeah I know there were. Bastards; your mind a frog put to boil. As it turns out I’m a glutton. I’ve let bitches push my buttons. But none of them like you. None of them like you. (you’re just a) Shut up. Caustic happenstance; down the drip feed I’m fed. Every word you intone tears my skin from my flesh, and my flesh from my bones. My bones. There’s a reason you’re dying alone; the intent of your sentences grind together like stones. Bastards, yeah I know you were. Bastard, your mind; the graveyard of toil. As it turns out I’m a glutton. I’ve let bastards push my buttons. But none of them like you. None of them like you. Bastards, I don’t care there were. Bastards, your mind; a stamp on my world. And without you I am empty. Everyone since gave me plenty but none of them are you. None of them are you. Bastards, we can’t even struggle through. Bastards, all the construct can do is construe. All my insides, made of clay. There’s no reason to go or to stay. There’s no one left like you. No one left like you.

Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 26, 2025

I can bargain with your karma, loan you zen, sell testimony, and you’ll buy it with a smile because you’re numb and fucking lonely. I won’t stand to be kept waiting long, while the sirens sing their song and the hull of the good ship Circumspect is dashed upon my wrongs. Don’t pester me; let the hole infested fester. Don’t hector me; your lecherous didactic lectures are not surrogacy for the thoughts you think you’re thinking. Little one, plague has come, yet you tear me down. And though the rain comes pouring over, and though the rats come pouring in, and though the curtains dropped, it’s over; you tear me down. And though the rain comes pouring over, and though the rats come pouring in, and though the curtains dropped, it’s over; you tear me down. You tear me down. Why am I the fucking worm in your terminal sojourn? Your face a buffet in its resting place. Little one, plague has done what I was scared to do. I tried to help you through, yet you tear me down. And though the rain comes pouring over, and though the rats come pouring in, and though the curtains dropped, it’s over; you tear me down. And though the rain comes pouring over, and though the rats come pouring in, and though the curtains dropped, it’s over; you tear me down. Nonsense, nonsense where your head should be. I stand on giants shoulders isolated by a guillotine. No one remembers the man of integrity. I stand on giants shoulders isolated by a guillotine. No one remembers the man of integrity. Look out below for the footprints left in snow alone when things are slow, but a pair part when things are going right. Redundant fight or flight. I don’t need a guiding light if we avoid the night. I can show you nothing if your mind has the means to glean the empty space between a death and a dream. Again. What a wonderful form of dread. Unscalable; your formidable wall of dead. You cast your lot with the sinners of Babel and Sodom and rot.

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 26, 2025

Light the fuse and break bread with the one you keep slightly bemused. Make your peace as you piece together platitudes for the deceased. Bray for blood and closure, for hope and wine. Forgiveness clandestine; induced ennui. I will save for myself naught but a fraction. (Could be better) Could be worse, just ignore where the skin starts to bubble and burst. Dance through the storm. Your only options are to drown or to die of thirst. Bray for blood and closure, for hope and wine. Forgiveness clandestine; induced ennui. Rats heads! Rats heads! (as a type of control and couture) Rats heads! Rats heads! (as a token of gratitude) They’ve never tried to speak, they’ve never deigned to listen. What we took as mystique was fucking noxious obsolescence. That part of me that seeks something of a vestibule to funnel torture into truth; slice the sick in me out. Sway. Sway. Sway. Sway. Such a lacklustre formative day. Stay away, and let slip the dogs as they bray for blood and closure, for hope and wine. Forgiveness clandestine; induced ennui. Expose the wound and let leak an inkling of verbal refuse. Sink the blade into the body of the babe that you wanted to turn into. Burn. As I breathe only fire can help me. Burn. As I breathe only fire can help me.

I’ve tasted love before but never in service of scabbing a cheek, and I’ve purged my flaws by drinking the genes of the meek. Tear away, melt away bulwarks of reinforced distaste. Lay prostrate, suffocate, choke on the causal remains of a wolf made deranged. Never unheard, always the first on the scene. Extant from the herd, sheltered by propriety. (I’ve tasted love before but never in service of scabbing a cheek. And I’ve purged my flaws by drinking the genes of the meek) Protest process. Protect progress, it’s a warning. Moses blooms undue. You’ll either consume or undo. It’s love in the age of dismay born of the artist’s decay. I’ve tasted mud before You tricked me, you waited until I was weak and force fed me the floor with your boots, behind my teeth. You listen to me, to what I reveal: Truth is a concept that God can repeal I AM A GOD I AM YOUR GOD I AM ELATION UNFOLDED ANGER BEHELD SADNESS REVULSION LOVE HUMAN EVOLVED Protest process. Protect progress, it’s a warning. Moses blooms undue. You’ll either consume or undo. It’s love in the age of dismay born of the artist’s decay. Never say nothing’s changed, I am the reason that seasons leave lesions on oceans and seas. Nothing ventured, apoplectic. Wise to tie your failure to providence bitch. Nothing gained, apathetic. Just happy to salt the soil. My machines need oil. My machines need oil, get grinding grief. My machines need oil, dredge up what’s kept beneath. My machines need oil.

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 26, 2025

And though the fear has passed I know that this hollow sophistry is just residual entropy. An asinine confluence of dull minds and embittered revelry; your embarrassing sciamachy. Wretched, unhinged, unholy, besotted with silk and folly. And yet their faces, familiar, the contours a picture of grace once withheld now left in squalor to melt. Before our world could start we tore ourselves apart. I exist as nothing but stress and colours. Burn with the love, unsold, the lies that you were told. I exist as nothing but stress and colours. Poison (purpose), melt your resolve. Happily graft to the truncheon made of your bones, wielded by saviours, reticent to leave good deeds unseen. And whether you’re a product of the meek or the wild - inherited genetics from a womb crystallized - you’ll never be wrong, never need to bend, be the last defence against the unwashed throng (this can’t be the end). Before our world could start we tore ourselves apart. I exist as nothing but stress and colours. Burn with the love, unsold, the lies that you were told. I exist as nothing but stress and colours. Before our world could start we tore ourselves apart. I exist as nothing but stress and colours. Burn with the love, unsold, the lies that you were told. I exist as nothing but stress and colours. Before our world could start; I exist as nothing but stress and colours. Burn with the love, unsold; I exist as nothing but stress and colours.

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 26, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

awaken, turn epiphanies into tragedies. Stay unshaken As the valleys and peaks start to tremble and creak. Bow, before the dirt starts falls, suspended by tension, taut between reason and laws I ignore, I implore you to abhor. I am your reasoning, I am your faults. I am coherence and dissonance making you whole. Making you more than results. All your gods lay their weapons at my feet. I’m the epitome of sweet misery (and antipathy). Cowed by a form wrought sublime. Suspected dimensions made impossible by design, maddening and byzantine. I am a priori, I am the precedent, I am the preference and precepts of all that’s existent. I AM MAGNIFICENCE. All your gods Lay their weapons at my feet. I’m the epitome of sweet misery. All my gods, All the weight they place on me. I’m the epitome of antiquity. I’m your tabula rasa On which you etch excuses.

Submitted by Morgoth — Apr 26, 2025

This vision built purposefully to accidentally lie. The surface, a gilded sheen designed to ween you, bleed you dry. Inaccessible, esoteric, emblematic and unattainable; a word forever out of reach. My lights are turning out. The lights attracted prey. The lights that burnt relationships; left cinders in my wake. My lights are turning out. The lights attracted prey. The lights that burnt relationships; left cinders in my wake. Inaccessible, esoteric, emblematic and unattainable; a word forever out of reach. My lights are turning out. The lights attracted prey. The lights that burnt relationships; left cinders in my wake. My lights are turning out. The lights attracted prey. The lights that burnt relationships; left cinders in my wake.

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 26, 2025

The wait, the gait of men divorced of meaning betrays their state as pigeons stopped from preening. A plaintive plea is useless sophistry. I never wanted to be questioned why I’m here, now. Grey, and unmoved. Twitching, unceasing, the tension taut between pain, unsoothed, and loss, twice removed. Normalised the fucking state of life where the fog alludes to the internment of mind. The interminable stay in a section of swaying thoughts and retorts. I, I can’t escape what’s prophesied, but I refuse to treat the wisdom as received just because another life has felt reprieve. Narcissistic terms, apologist conditions. Strenuous in turn; constant atonal renditions of unconscious whims, sung by damaged neural strings. I can’t help what I can’t see but I don’t presume what I could be I’d rather be alone, than leave a space for spacelessness. I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness. I’d rather be alone, than be a space for spacelessness. I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness, and stress; a constant source of weakness. Your hand, interned, immune to touch and life and burns. You are not their progeny even if you want to be. I’d rather be alone, than leave a space for spacelessness. I’d rather not intone, the morbid hymns of gracelessness. I’d rather be alone, than be a space for spacelessness. I’d rather die at home, than leave your face a sordid mess. I never wanted to be questioned why I’m here, now. Pushing the envelope. Punish the interloper. Pressure our nascent joy to stray. If I could write the beauty of your eyes (You are the pebbles that my self runs over.) and in fresh numbers, number all your graces (You texture me - you move the way I move.) the age to come would say “this poet surely lies, (You bend my surface - you reshape my groove,) such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.” (break the perfection of the rhythmed sliding surface of my heart.) Faces. Faces, unclean, they gleam with saline acceptance. Phases, abrasive turns of phrases, like “life is a veil of tears.”

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 26, 2025

I, I’m feeling fine just wasting time by watching debutants all dressed in brine. And that besides formaldehyde needs help preserving this life. My arms around your shoulders, like a rope around your neck. Hearts beat to stay unbroken. My arms around your shoulders, like a rope around your neck. Hearts beat to stay unbroken. I, I’m feeling fine. I’ll wear your hide, and drape your conscience, wet, over the side of my empire of hooks and wires from which I hang desires. My arms around your shoulders, like a rope around your neck. Hearts beat to stay unbroken. My arms around your shoulders, like a rope around your neck. Hearts beat to stay unbroken. Patience patients, lest you float away. My eyes are Turing holes filled with bending rays. And my mind; vestigial growth determined by brain states. But as you dissipate to try to disappear would it kill you just to leave me a gratuity. No lessons learned in chains, no prayers save those you make in vain. No walls to string you by your veins. No bleach to wash away the strain.

Submitted by Sexy Gargoyle — Apr 26, 2025