There’s a voice that speaks to us while we sleep.
We don’t hear it with our ears, but we feel it — as a sudden chill, a blurred memory, an image suspended between dream and vanishing.
That voice is Death.
But not Death as an ending.
Death as a presence.

In Silent Rhyme, the song I wrote and produced for Serena Void, it is she — Death — who speaks.
And she does so with the gentleness of an old companion, with the ruthless honesty of someone who knows.
She doesn’t frighten us. She doesn’t threaten.
She simply whispers the truth we so often avoid: time is not infinite, and every hesitation has a cost.

Serena Void sings these words with haunting tenderness. Her voice — synthetic, yet deeply human — floats through the track with a strange intimacy. This is cyber reggae: a slow, melancholic pulse wrapped in digital echo, where dread and clarity walk side by side.

We created cyber reggae to give form to that suspended feeling — between life and death, between dreaming and awareness, between what is real and what trembles just beneath the surface.

This isn’t a genre for escapism.
It’s a ritual, a reckoning.
The bass moves like a distant heartbeat. The reverbs come from a synthetic jungle. And the lyrics — slow, inescapable — guide us through the dark.
Not to scare us.
To wake us up.

“Stop your dreaming, time is fleeting…
Take a small step into the dark.”

Death speaks to remind us to live.
To do the things we keep postponing.
To love the people who are still here.
To write that letter, play that song, walk that unnamed road.
Because everything we don’t choose now will be lost.
And when she comes — because she will — she will only take what we truly were, not what we wished to be.

Serena Void — our virtual singer, born from glitch and light reflected on steel — gives voice to this truth.
Silent Rhyme is not a lullaby.
It’s an awakening.