In the pursuit of victory

 

These lyrics explore themes of creative drive, personal conviction, and embracing the unknown through the central metaphor of a relentless "strange beat." 

The tone is defiant and urgent, capturing a narrator who rejects comfort in favour of pursuing their inner truth. 

Structurally, the song uses rhythmic repetition and dynamic shifts to mirror the pulsing internal journey described in the text. 

Maybe you know the feeling. 

Salute. 

Title. 

In the pursuit of Victory

(A lone voice whispers) 

Blessed be

Velumbound

Well, I'm walkin' down these streets

Running inside

To a strange beat

Only the tryers know

God damn

That beat takes me

Everywhere I go

I've got things crawling like ivy

All over my mind

Things that want me

To change me

To be...

And be true friends of mine

Some say I'm going crazy

And I should slow down

Take it easy

But I'm walkin' down these streets

Running inside

To a strange beat

Only the tryers know

God damn...

That beat takes me

Everywhere I go

For there's a strange beat

Running through my soul

A beat

That won't let me go

I don't know where it's taking me

But I know I have to find

What is waiting in the darkness

On the other side of my mind

I know it's sweet love

Is gonna save me

We could lose

Or we could win

But we will never

Be here again

So I'm walkin' down these mean streets...

Running inside...

To a strange beat...

Only the tryers know

God damn...

That beat takes me

Everywhere I go

Some say I'm going crazy

And I should slow down

Take it easy

But you know what?

Us truers aren't built

To live lazy

When looking for that something 

To drive us crazy

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy

Want to know a secret?

Is this a poetic, modern mythological statement of esoteric creative writing? 

Or a magical revelation? 

A four-step ritual of turning spiritual or energetic frequencies into an online phenomenon.

Blending ancient mystery school imagery with modern digital culture. 

"The "Hooks": 

Using the metaphor of fishing — casting visions like "baited hooks" into "human rivers" — to describe how to capture the attention of curious people online. 

Maybe like you. 

"The Great Book": 

It references The Clavis Magnum Intermedium (The Great Intermediate Key), framing it as a sacred text hidden right in plain sight "amongst the wild woods" of modern social media.

Beautifully capturing how modern digital algorithms and viral content can feel a lot like ancient, hypnotic magic.

Well, since you're here at the end of one of my ethereal hooks. 

I'll continue:

(A lone voice whispers) 

Some ask how this all started. 

It started with a rebirth. 

A rebirth into:

Step 1.

Translating frequencies into words via dream visions. 

Step 2.

Writing them down from streams of unconscious

transmissions. 

Step 3.

Then casting them like baited hooks to catch inquisitive minds. 

To get them hooked by all it took - to bait the line with streams of visions  

Wrapped around the silver, translucent, ethereal hooks. 

To celebrate:

Step 4.

Inscribing your sacred name, by so many others. 

Who were caught to look. 

In one the mystery schools, greatest of books. 

The Clavis Magnum Intermedium. 

Just hidden amongst the wild, overgrown woods. 

On social media. 

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy

Obsidian

 

Obsidian

 

Soon to be released. 

One for the heartbroken. 

Salute. 

These lyrics titled "Obsidian" explore the profound aftermath of heartbreak. 

Focusing on themes of radical acceptance. 

The renunciation of the pursuit of love and the reclamation of grief as a quiet refuge. 

Symbolised by the colour black and the mooring of a "crimson ship."

Title. 

Obsidian

Blessed be.

Velumbound.

And so, like before love came. 

I return to my lonely home. 

Seeking no longer to atone. 

As my world suddenly stops.

A strange new refuge. 

Where blackbirds play. 

While grief-sad clocks 

Sway.

And my spirit guides come out to mourn. 

Dressed in black. 

As if they were reborn. 

No more will I seek love. 

Just to be adored.

My only crimson ship. 

Has finally been moored.

Black is my new colour. 

Black is my new name.

I sailed my crimson ship away. 

And I won't sail it back again.

Love is lying silent now. 

And I don't need to know why. 

Black is my new colour.

Since the day love died.

So please forgive me, Lord. 

If I don't ask for more.

I've walked those empty corridors. 

I've walked them all before.

I used to keep my heart locked up. 

Hoard every little flame.

But happiness cannot be kept. 

Like something you can claim.

And of that old life. 

I'm now.

Bored.

Black is my new colour. 

Black is my new name.

I sailed my crimson ship away. 

And I won't sail it back again.

Love is lying silent now. 

And I don't need to know why.

Black is my new colour.

Since the day love died.

Maybe the dead don't disappear.

Maybe they simply change their clothes.

Maybe grief is just a doorway. 

To somewhere nobody knows.

And if the blackbirds sing tonight. 

I'll let them sing for me.

I've stopped asking where love went.

Perhaps it was never meant to stay.

Black is my new colour. 

Black is my new name.

My crimson ship is sleeping. 

On a dark and distant plain.

I don't seek love to adore me. 

I don't need to ask it why.

Black is my new colour.

Since the day love died.

Blessed be.

Velumbound.

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy

Transmission Xxx

 

The Wedding Vows

 

The Wedding Vows (feat. John Duffy) is a romantic and poetic song that serves as a deep exploration of commitment, going beyond traditional rituals to focus on a spiritual and eternal connection.

What were your wedding vows? 

The Divine Spark

 

"The Divine Spark" (feat. Clinton R. Johnson & Darren Curtis) is a spoken-word musical piece that explores the metaphorical concept of a "divine spark"—a spiritual essence or light bestowed upon individuals at birth.

Written and produced by John Duffy. 

Have you shared yours yet? 

Press play. 

Salute. 

Heavens Great Gate,

 

Heavens Great Gate, featuring Clinton R. Johnson and Darren Curtis, is an inspirational piece that encourages self-reflection, kindness, and living a life true to one's own dreams. 

Press play. 

Salute, 

The Wolf Moon

 

A poignant poem: a deeply emotional, elegiac reflection on grief, lost love, and the painful nature of memory. 

Using the moon and an underground stream as metaphors to navigate the haunting reality of losing a romantic partner to death. 

Title. 

The Wolf Moon. 

(A lone voice whispers) 

The moon is no longer a friend of mine. 

Even though it shines and looks so divine. 

For looking at its gaze resurfaces old memories, hidden in my deep mind. 

Spectral memories I no longer wish to find. 

Memories like ghostly butterflies which flutter around: like narcotic nursery rhymes.

Butterflies leading me to my hidden, underground stream. 

Filled with green foliage of all I've once been. 

Some real and some only manifested in deep dreams. 

And in those rising waters. 

Shining so bright under the moonlight.

I see us. 

Standing on a blackened bridge, holding hands with wet palms and sad faces.

And as I race to plead for us to smile. 

Embrace and hug for a short while through the so familiar stream.

Feeling my bare feet crush shells from the past. 

As I try to run so fast. 

I always see what happens in the end. 

We were both never meant to last, and as we turn away.

No longer together as lovers or friends. 

A white and black poster of us. Always washes past my wet feet. 

Embossed with a purple hue. 

Stating.

We once loved as all lovers do. 

But now it's over.

Walk back, traveller.

And when I look deep into that fast-flowing stream. 

Memories of us float past, now dead. 

Like our first kiss in the park. 

Just before it got dark. 

As always, in that sorrow-filled moment, I hear a sound like a lone bell.

Breaking the spell. 

And so I walk slowly back up my hidden underground stream. 

To the familiar doorway to escape my now-wet dreams 

To then wake to see your beloved picture and remember how you left. 

You died in January with the first rising of the Wolf Moon. 

And it's why she is no longer a friend of mine. 

Even though she shines so bright and looks divine. 

For looking at her beautiful gaze resurfaces old memories hidden in my deep mind. 

Spectral memories I no longer wish to find. 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

   

And so the voices come