A. van Dort
A. is 25 years old.
She is the Turntable Artist of Pretty Hate Machine.
A. is also known as "Mary Vodant".
A. is located in Budapest at Dangerzone E BUD 1.
A. likes to go for a walk during off hours and is trying to talk to media in order to get ahead professionally.
It's only me - part 2
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Dominant Instruments
Turntable System
Bass Guitar
Special Lyrics
(Verse 1)
In the abyss where whispers crawl,
I stare at the ghost behind the wall,
Chains of doubt wrapped tight around my brain,
A tempest roars, feeding on my pain.
Each thought a dagger, each breath a scream,
A fractured mirror reflects my shattered dream.
In the chamber of shadows, where the wraiths entwine,
I’m lost in the echo, in the darkness I pine.
(Chorus)
I’m silent because I’m sick,
I’m sick because I’m silent.
A storm within, a hollow flick,
My soul is chained, forever violent.
(Verse 2)
Crawling through the graveyard of my regrets,
Haunting faces whisper secrets I'll forget.
Nights bleed into days, a canvas stained with dread,
The weight of my failures, a noose around my head.
In the mirror's gaze, I see the monster's face,
A wretched reflection in this forsaken place.
Hope's a distant flame, flickering and frail,
In this darkened labyrinth, I’m destined to fail.
(Chorus)
I’m silent because I’m sick,
I’m sick because I’m silent.
A storm within, a hollow flick,
My soul is chained, forever violent.
(Bridge)
Like ashes in the wind, my dreams drift away,
Lost in the shadows, where the lost souls play.
The battle rages on, within the confines of my mind,
But the whispers of the dark, are all I seem to find.
Torn between the wreckage of who I thought I’d be,
A puppet of despair, bound by my own decree.
No salvation on the horizon, no dawn to light my path,
I dance with my demons, embraced by their wrath.
(Chorus)
I’m silent because I’m sick,
I’m sick because I’m silent.
A storm within, a hollow flick,
My soul is chained, forever violent.
(Outro)
So here I stand, beneath the weight of regret,
In the silence of my madness, my heart’s a filth-ridden debt.
The final shroud descends, as hope fades from sight,
In the shadows of my mind, I surrender to the night.
No rising sun, no healing grace,
Just me and the darkness, a suffocating embrace.