اسم آلبوم:catalog

اسم آلبوم:catalog
اسم آهنگ:Local ⁵⁸ TV

Static on the screen, black and white fade,
Late night signals in a ghostly parade.
Voices whisper secrets you can’t decode,
Broadcast from shadows on a haunted road.

News at midnight, but the story’s unclear,
Footsteps behind you, but no one’s near.
Tuned in but lost in a digital maze,
Trapped in the static of Local 58’s haze.

Clock says “run,” but the door stays shut,
Every frame’s a warning, every blink’s a cut.
Messages crawl at the bottom in red,
"Don’t trust your eyes" — that’s what it said.

Camera glitch, but it knows my name,
I’m the main star in a losing game.
Night repeats like a looping scream,
Stuck in the feed of a fever dream.

This is not a test — turn off your head,
Static’s alive, and it’s spreading the dread.
Local 58 — we know what you see,
Trapped in the signal, you’re never free.

I tried to change the channel — but the screen just grinned,
Flickered my face back at me from within.
Voices got louder, the room went cold,
“Obey the broadcast,” in letters bold.

This is not a test — turn off your head,
Static’s alive, and it’s spreading the dread.
Local 58 — we know what you see,
Trapped in the signal, you’re never free.

You are watching...
Local. 58. TV.
and we’re watching you..

---

اسم آهنگ:mountain mythos

In the valley where the silence breathes,
Stands a tree with roots beneath beliefs.
Thirteen kids walked close, just teens,
Now they're myths, no trace, no screams.

Time stood still, they vanished that day,
No goodbye, just gone — like swept away.
Fifty years later, they came out slow,
No age, no change, just eyes that glow.

They don’t speak, but the air gets tight,
Like they carry the weight of endless night.
Now a wall of stone curls round its base,
Etched in fear: “Monument Mythos” in place.

Tried to climb that wall, but the stone feels warm,
Like it’s breathing slow in a human form.
Names carved deep from another age,
Every letter screams from a silent cage.

The tree don't grow, it just shifts and shakes,
Like it knows the souls that time won’t take.
Wind don’t blow, but it hums real low,
A rhythm from beneath where secrets grow.

One of the thirteen just stares at the sun,
Says “we saw the end — and it already begun.”
Then goes quiet like he said too much,
As if the myth just bit with a cursed touch...

Beneath the stone, the roots still twist,
Thirteen shadows in morning mist.
No voice, no age, no blood, no hand,
Just whispers trapped in Monument Land.

Time don’t pass where silence stands,
Buried truth in forgotten sands.
Step too close — and you’ll understand,
You don’t leave from Monument Mythos Land.

Now the forest sleeps with one red eye,
Watching every soul that passes by.
Some still claim they heard a sound —
Like children laughing underground.

One night a boy touched the stone and froze,
His shadow stayed when the cold wind rose.
They took him too — just like before,
Now there’s fourteen names carved on the floor...

Don’t look too long…
Don’t stand too near…
Some monuments are built from fear.

Beneath the stone, the roots still twist,
Thirteen shadows in morning mist.
No voice, no age, no blood, no hand,
Just whispers trapped in Monument Land…