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𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑨 𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑬𝑹𝒀
DEAD\END\PRISON - AVAILABLE NOW
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UNHRDSOUND: NORTH CAROLINA

Tristen England opens “DEAD\END\PRISON” with a survival test. “Kill the blessed lamb or die by the blade.” Innocence does not protect you here. Either innocence dies or you survive what holds the knife.

“Sewn seeds; fruit to feed the emaciated” evokes something already damaged still being expected to provide. 

Khalil England’s guitar stays low and heavy while Savien Davis disturbs the backbeat, one snare pop hanging just long enough before the next one double smacks you . 

The band keeps moving while the lyrics disappear inside it. “You say this is a new start / While my will is dead.” It gets worse: “My will no more.” 

Desire feels dangerous enough that shutting down seems safer than wanting anything. 

The feature opens with the band dropping out and giving Josh Rendelman space. 

The song gets vulnerable without a clean chorus or any of the tricks metalcore used for twenty years to announce feelings. “I turn the knobs on broken doors.” 

He knows the entrance is fucked and keeps trying anyway.

“Chin up, smile wide” drops like the worst advice for someone already spending nights turning themselves inside out.

“Always wanting, never wanted” makes “fruit to feed the emaciated” come back differently. Hunger has been inside the song the whole time. 

Somebody keeps producing, somebody keeps needing. 

Eventually, being unwanted feels like proof the other person must be worth more than you.

The need becomes more exposed.

“Speak my name.”

Only then does he finally say what this relationship has done: “I beg for more, receiving less.”

The chorus returns heavier, but now the broken fangs don’t belong to a monster. They belong to someone hurt enough to finally bare their teeth. 

“You’re not born better than me.” “We all still die the same.” Is the moment hierarchy starts losing power. 

The harder part comes after. 

You can reject the idea that someone was ever above you and still carry the dying wishes they left behind. That is where “a fucking ghost” lands. 

The belief is dead. The haunting isn’t.

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