THIS IS CÜSHTY
Published at : 16 Dec 2020
Cüshty "This Is Cüshty" EP 2019
All songs & lyrics by Cüshty
Rec/mix/master by Dániel Ivánfi
Artwork by Barnabás Kókai for Barber's Art
1. HEAVY ROPES
Apple in the garden, snakes in the grass. One day relaxing, sketching up blueprints for homes that are already broken. Dead in the water. Sad songs for lonely cold nights. The shadows are creeping up on me when I thought I could be free. I’m at the end of my rope. These wars are not meant to be won. I’m every rotten lie you’ve ever told. Whispered secrets that only the dead can know but in the end we all get caught. This shame hangs around your neck. Withering into nothing in that bed. I've come with the butcher's bill. Tomorrow's mine, I hear it coming in the footsteps of the rats in the sewers. Follow the rats into the trap.
Step out from the shadow of a false goddess figure to walk in the footsteps of a faithless mistress. Swollen ankles, bruised feet. Walk hard on the path of shame. Up the hills, down the road. Now the castle is collapsing and the bridges are burning so the fire will light my way out from this darkened place. I won’t have to carry nothing else just my heart on my sleeve. It will lead me to the only place where I need to be. I have learned to love, learned to let go. Now I have to learn to love again. It just keeps getting harder and harder to forgive, to trust another. Cleanse my mind, empty my heart. Heavy art will come around and lead my way ahead but the castle is already collapsing and the bridges are burning.
3. THE PALE KING
Am I usable? Am I worthy? I cannot let myself manipulated by wrongdoers who endlessly trying to climb higher on my back. Leaving me in ruins like a sinking shipwreck haunted by ghosts from a greener time. How we deal with tragedy defines who we are. Aggression learned in the forest of family trees where roots are soaked in tears. Wet wood cannot be set on fire. Without the warmth of flames the soil slowly freezes. No spades could break it, the bodies will remain unburied. Pile of the dead is the foundation of the uprising generation. I cannot let myself manipulated by touchscreen faces, immortal batteries, live feeds from the digital preacher. Plastic religion, gold coated led. All Hail the pale king.