Carnival of Broken Strings

psychedelic trap, experimental electronic, glitch

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The Cyrnival of Broken Strings is no ordinary circus. It appears where reality and dream bleed into each other. The ground reflects not the sky, but your thoughts. The air vibrates as if every note of music is rewiring your synapses.

At its center stands The Ringmaster — a man with eyes that embrace and pierce at the same time. His voice draws you closer, gentle like an old lullaby… until it cracks and spirals into manic laughter.

The musicians? They’re no longer human. Their bodies have fused with their instruments — trumpets growing from spinal bones, piano keys for teeth, drumstick arms twitching without rest. They don’t play for applause. They play to keep the circus alive.

And once you step inside the tent, something in you changes. Colors make sound, voices dance, and even silence breathes. Some find their way out again. Others stay — becoming new attractions.

_______________________________________________________

(Intro – slow, eerie calliope melody)
Step right up, don’t be shy,
Under the tent where the echoes lie.
Every note’s a twisted scream,
Welcome to the fever dream.

(Verse 1)
Trumpets bend like they’re losing their mind,
Drummers hit like they’re beating back time.
Piano’s laughing with crooked teeth,
Violins crawl like they’ve grown beneath.
Every chord is a lightning strike,
Every riff’s like a barroom fight.
They don’t play for fame or gold,
They play ‘cause the madness took hold.

(Hook)
It’s a circus of the mad, where the music bleeds,
Where the horns breathe fire and the bass line feeds.
Every beat’s a riot, every note’s a scream,
We’re the freaks who live inside your dreams.

(Verse 2)
Accordion wheezes like a dying beast,
Guitar strings snap like they’re never at peace.
Singers howl like a midnight train,
Words cut sharp, they don’t explain.
The conductor’s eyes are two black holes,
Swallowing sound, devouring souls.
The spotlight burns, the curtains shake,
One more song ‘til the tent poles break.

(Bridge – whisper to shout)
Step closer… the melody bites,
Step closer… lose your nights,
Step closer… feel the spin,
Once you’re inside, you won’t get out again.

(Hook – repeat with more chaos)
It’s a circus of the mad, where the music bleeds,
Where the horns breathe fire and the bass line feeds.
Every beat’s a riot, every note’s a scream,
We’re the freaks who live inside your dreams.

(Outro – fading calliope, distant laughter)
Round and round the record spins,
In the circus where the madness wins.

2736/7500

No one truly knows when it first appeared. Some say it only rises on nights when the sky glows violet and the rain tastes like metal. Others swear they’ve seen its flickering lights from miles away — and felt the bass thumping, like a heartbeat that wasn’t their own. The Cyrnival of Broken Strings is no ordinary circus. It appears where reality and dream bleed into each other. The ground reflects not the sky, but your thoughts. The air vibrates as if every note of music is rewiring your synapses. At its center stands The Ringmaster — a man with eyes that embrace and pierce at the same time. His voice draws you closer, gentle like an old lullaby… until it cracks and spirals into manic laughter. The musicians? They’re no longer human. Their bodies have fused with their instruments — trumpets growing from spinal bones, piano keys for teeth, drumstick arms twitching without rest. They don’t play for applause. They play to keep the circus alive. And once you step inside the tent, something in you changes. Colors make sound, voices dance, and even silence breathes. Some find their way out again. Others stay — becoming new attractions. _______________________________________________________ (Intro – slow, eerie calliope melody) Step right up, don’t be shy, Under the tent where the echoes lie. Every note’s a twisted scream, Welcome to the fever dream. (Verse 1) Trumpets bend like they’re losing their mind, Drummers hit like they’re beating back time. Piano’s laughing with crooked teeth, Violins crawl like they’ve grown beneath. Every chord is a lightning strike, Every riff’s like a barroom fight. They don’t play for fame or gold, They play ‘cause the madness took hold. (Hook) It’s a circus of the mad, where the music bleeds, Where the horns breathe fire and the bass line feeds. Every beat’s a riot, every note’s a scream, We’re the freaks who live inside your dreams. (Verse 2) Accordion wheezes like a dying beast, Guitar strings snap like they’re never at peace. Singers howl like a midnight train, Words cut sharp, they don’t explain. The conductor’s eyes are two black holes, Swallowing sound, devouring souls. The spotlight burns, the curtains shake, One more song ‘til the tent poles break. (Bridge – whisper to shout) Step closer… the melody bites, Step closer… lose your nights, Step closer… feel the spin, Once you’re inside, you won’t get out again. (Hook – repeat with more chaos) It’s a circus of the mad, where the music bleeds, Where the horns breathe fire and the bass line feeds. Every beat’s a riot, every note’s a scream, We’re the freaks who live inside your dreams. (Outro – fading calliope, distant laughter) Round and round the record spins, In the circus where the madness wins.

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