Sleeps Without Time

We pulled this lament out of a Silesian shaft, the kind where the air forgets how to move and the walls lean in just to hear your thoughts. Nobody owns it and nobody remembers who sang it first - it simply sat in the dark long enough for the dust to memorize every line. These songs weren’t written; they were survived. Passed between shifts, whispered on ladders, traded at the edge of disasters, carrying the understanding that the mountain always collects its due. Hardware Party doesn’t modernize folklore - we just amplify the pressure already inside it. Drum and bass exposes the bones, the old rhythm meant to be relentless. Consider this a transmission from below: a voice pushed upward through stone and machinery. We didn’t clean it. We didn’t soften it. We only opened the channel and let the shaft speak