Slow zouk

Carimi - Chagrin Kriminel

K-DILAK AND BEDJINE - PROMÈT MWEN

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KREZIBEATZ-KLASS U DONT WANT ME REMIX FET YUNG RICH-GOUYAD EDITION.

The song is a modern indie, lo-fi ballad about living with the absence of someone who is gone forever, without ever stating exactly who or what they were. The narrator moves through quiet, everyday moments—an untouched coffee cup, empty streets, fading photographs—while feeling that this presence still lingers “in the quiet left behind.” Grief is shown as something soft and ongoing rather than dramatic, and the final image of a trumpet “calling out my pain” turns that emotion into sound.Full lyrics (no instrumental notes)The morning breaks without a sound,
Your cup still waiting by the door.
I keep the lights half down,
Like you might come back once more.Every breath feels half-alive,
Every room hums your goodbye.You’re still here in the quiet left behind,
(In the quiet left behind)
In the glow of screens, in the spaces we designed.
(In the spaces we designed)
Every word I try comes out the same —
You’re the whisper in the static of my name.
(Of my name)I drive where we forgot the time,
A song plays slow through broken speakers.
There’s beauty hiding in the grime,
And memory becoming weaker.Every night folds in too soon,
You still linger in the tune.You’re still here in the quiet left behind,
(You’re still here)
In the glow of screens, in the spaces we designed.
(In the spaces we designed)
Every word I try comes out the same —
You’re the whisper in the static of my name.
(Of my name)The photographs don’t look the same,
Their colors fade like distant dreams.
I touch the frame to say your name,
And it shakes somewhere in between.The air outside tastes like regret,
The sky too wide for what remains.
I walk the line where we first met,
Under quiet lights that know your name.No clean break, just echoes,
(No goodbye)
No goodbye, just a fade.
(I still stay)
I talk to what’s missing,
Like it might still stay.You’re still here in the quiet left behind,
(You’re still here)
In the breath between the notes we couldn’t find.
(Between the notes)
Every word I write turns into rain —
You’re the trumpet calling out my pain.
(Calling out my pain)

© 2025 Martin Oliver Beinersdorf. All rights reserved.  
Lyrics and concept by Martin Oliver Beinersdorf. Do not reproduce, distribute, or adapt without explicit permission.

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