Buried Back [(Cover)X5 + (Edit) (1.16x) (1.12x)]x(Cover) (Cover) (1.07x)

Fast 9/8 Anatolian aksak cinematic black metal, live stadium multitrack, Huzzam makam phrasing on fretless bass + fretless lead: microtonal bends, glissando, vibrato, Taksim intro: eBow fretless lead over bass drone, then full-band surge, Tremolo rhythm guitars and blast-beat drive locked to the 9 feel; metal kit with kudum/darbuka + frame drum accents, Short fretless solos between sections, Hi-Fi analog-leaning instruments: tape saturation, tube warmth, room mics, wide dynamics, crisp transients, deep low end, Lead vocals as clean modern digital live takes, upfront: male tenor, clear English diction; evolves from clean close-mic into sustained harsh extreme-metal screams for the final lines, Sparse choir on a few unison hits, Audience mics: roars, chants, applause, include::fretless bass, include::ebow guitar, include::fretless electric guitar, include::electric guitar, include::acoustic drums, include::kudum, include::darbuka, include::frame drum, include::crowd noise

Dear @ConflagrantInstrumentCable5973,

To edit this track and bring it back in this form, I had to combine two different Suno versions, push the structure into this line by playing with the weirdness setting, do two or three extends to fix the ending, and crank the speed up to insanity.

The raw brutality and pure energy in your lyrics—this backward causal gaze, looking from death back toward life—fits metal aesthetics perfectly, if you ask me.

For a song like this, writing it in English can be as simple as hitting one or two buttons with the right prompt. But if you want the vocal to pronounce Turkish correctly and you want Turkish musical identity to come through with the charismatic design it deserves, you have to forge the song like a blacksmith, hammering it again and again, my friend.

And of course Mumorj wasn’t going to stop there. Could there ever be an option for lyrics this insanely beautiful to stay trapped in a single language or culture? Not with me around—never! So I kept going. The bracketed tags next to the lyrics show anyone who understands exactly how I generated this “mind-melting geometry.”

Your words gave me that much power—so here we are, my brother I’ve never even met.

I’m going to share it and tag some of my overseas friends who love this track, so they can applaud your poetic achievement too. But I won’t pin it to my profile without your permission—I hope you’ll allow it.

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[Instrumental Intro]

[Fretless Electric Guitar (eBow) Lead]

[Fretless Bass Drone]

[Verse 1 (raw, mournful)]
Mother, smell me—
I used to smell of milk.
Now I smell of turned earth.
They chopped blood into your milk.
A switchblade sunk in…
From the end back to the start—
how many times did it turn in my flesh?

[Verse 2 (cold, mournful)]
Mother, a bowl of water—
children’s thirst dries up fast;
the grave’s thirst does not—
it drinks backward.
The wells are venomous snakes.
Mother, where are the songs of spring?
They’re buried with me.

[Chorus (whispered, ritualistic)]
I stripped off the play I learned after you.
I stripped off the play.
(I stripped off the play.)

[Verse 3 (restrained, hard)]
Mother, look—
from down here, I can see
blood is still dripping
from the ceiling of your grave.
Didn’t you always say: don’t let it touch us,
the evil eye—
the whole world’s stare?
But it stared back.

[Chorus (louder, deliberate)]
I stripped off the play they taught me after you.
I stripped off the play.
(I stripped off the play.)

[Instrumental Break]

[Fretless Electric Guitar Solo]

[Hook (broken lullaby)]
Mom, you can’t hold my hand.
It’s soil now.
My hair has fallen out—you can’t comb it.
I’m naked like the day you gave birth to me.

[BACKING CHANT (sparse, low in mix, unison)]
I’m naked like the day you gave birth to me,
I stripped off everything that came after you—
bury me back—

[BACKING CHANT (very low, distant, short)]
I’m naked like the day you gave birth to me,
I stripped off everything that came after you—
bury me back in your womb.

[Pause]

[Full Band + Audience Outro]

[End]

3109/7500

Dear @ConflagrantInstrumentCable5973, To edit this track and bring it back in this form, I had to combine two different Suno versions, push the structure into this line by playing with the weirdness setting, do two or three extends to fix the ending, and crank the speed up to insanity. The raw brutality and pure energy in your lyrics—this backward causal gaze, looking from death back toward life—fits metal aesthetics perfectly, if you ask me. For a song like this, writing it in English can be as simple as hitting one or two buttons with the right prompt. But if you want the vocal to pronounce Turkish correctly and you want Turkish musical identity to come through with the charismatic design it deserves, you have to forge the song like a blacksmith, hammering it again and again, my friend. And of course Mumorj wasn’t going to stop there. Could there ever be an option for lyrics this insanely beautiful to stay trapped in a single language or culture? Not with me around—never! So I kept going. The bracketed tags next to the lyrics show anyone who understands exactly how I generated this “mind-melting geometry.” Your words gave me that much power—so here we are, my brother I’ve never even met. I’m going to share it and tag some of my overseas friends who love this track, so they can applaud your poetic achievement too. But I won’t pin it to my profile without your permission—I hope you’ll allow it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Instrumental Intro] [Fretless Electric Guitar (eBow) Lead] [Fretless Bass Drone] [Verse 1 (raw, mournful)] Mother, smell me— I used to smell of milk. Now I smell of turned earth. They chopped blood into your milk. A switchblade sunk in… From the end back to the start— how many times did it turn in my flesh? [Verse 2 (cold, mournful)] Mother, a bowl of water— children’s thirst dries up fast; the grave’s thirst does not— it drinks backward. The wells are venomous snakes. Mother, where are the songs of spring? They’re buried with me. [Chorus (whispered, ritualistic)] I stripped off the play I learned after you. I stripped off the play. (I stripped off the play.) [Verse 3 (restrained, hard)] Mother, look— from down here, I can see blood is still dripping from the ceiling of your grave. Didn’t you always say: don’t let it touch us, the evil eye— the whole world’s stare? But it stared back. [Chorus (louder, deliberate)] I stripped off the play they taught me after you. I stripped off the play. (I stripped off the play.) [Instrumental Break] [Fretless Electric Guitar Solo] [Hook (broken lullaby)] Mom, you can’t hold my hand. It’s soil now. My hair has fallen out—you can’t comb it. I’m naked like the day you gave birth to me. [BACKING CHANT (sparse, low in mix, unison)] I’m naked like the day you gave birth to me, I stripped off everything that came after you— bury me back— [BACKING CHANT (very low, distant, short)] I’m naked like the day you gave birth to me, I stripped off everything that came after you— bury me back in your womb. [Pause] [Full Band + Audience Outro] [End]

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