Dust on the Wind

Whiskey and White Lies

Just Leave Me Alone Bitch

I Cry In The Middle o’ The Night

© 2025 WhoaProductions – All Rights Reserved

There he was 
A shadow  
In my mind 
On the walls 
Or standing behind 
To prove death 
One step 
At a time. 
Always looking 
Reaching 
To find. 
Chasing illusions 
Surrounded  
By shadows 
The darkness 
Of my mind. 
An attempt 
To steal 
What’s sublime. 
Lost in 
The world 
A stranger  
In time 
Not knowing 
What to do 
But acting 
As who? 
Attempt no more 
To win 
Through losing 
Nor to die 
To live. 
If change is real 
And facts  
Or not 
What I feel 
Can I seek 
Without compulsion? 
Do I trust 
My own emotions? 
Can I hear 
The voice 
With another notion? 
Can I see 
Without the spell’s  
Poison potion? 
The bridge that 
Will be crossed 
The question is 
When my worldly 
Entrapment 
Is willing 
To be tossed 
And I confront 
My conflicting goals 
The lost  
And found 
Of my 
Very soul. 
The peace is 
The bridge. 
This 
Where my 
heart lives. 
Surrender to win. 
It’s not important 
To where I’ve been 
Or the future 
But the presence 
Of what’s within. 
Peace  
With no sin. 
Or, A life with 
That chagrin 
But the peace 
That’s always been. 
Through a path 
Wherein 
As I listen 
To the ancestral 
Violins 
They dwell 
Therein. 
I drink from 
The chalice of  
Atonement.

Ancestral Violin

I write all my melodies myself.
Arrangement - artificial intelligence

Cats-Cry-When-They-Die-

As long as it rains

On the Porch isn’t just a record, it’s a conversation. It’s the sound of old souls and weathered hands, of stories told long after midnight under a sky full of stars. It’s music played on borrowed instruments, with creaking floorboards for percussion and a rusted steel guitar crying in the background. It’s imperfect on purpose, because so is life.

This album is about the roads that shaped us, the ones we chose and the ones that chose us. It’s about scars that never quite fade and memories that refuse to leave. It’s about love that breaks us and saves us, wars fought far from home and battles fought deep within, about grief we carry and grace we try to find along the way.

This isn’t a polished studio album meant for neon lights and perfect mixes. It’s the sound of boots on a wooden porch, of a low, raspy voice telling the truth because there’s no reason to lie anymore. It’s a celebration of the beauty in imperfection and a reminder that some of life’s greatest songs are the ones played simply, honestly, and without apology.

So pull up a chair. Pour something strong. And sit with us a while because every note, every word, and every story here was meant to be shared on the porch.

Piper in the Distance

Back to Her

Your shadow still sleeps on the empty bed,

But the warmth is gone, the fire is dead.

I reach for your hand in the midnight air,

But find only echoes that aren′t there.

The whiskey lies with a bitter taste,

A cruel reminder of love I chased.

The rain keeps beatin' on my window frame,

Each drop a prayer that calls your name.

The silence owns me, it cuts so deep,

A wound that wakes me when I should sleep.

No dawn will find me, no light will show,

Just a hollow heart that can′t let go.

The piano cries where the truth once lay,

Every note's a price I still pay.

The mirror breaks with a stranger's face,

A woman lost in an empty place.

If mercy lived, it would take me home,

But hope is a ghost, I walk alone.

I sing these blues to the endless sky,

Asking the night why love must die.

The silence owns me, it chains my soul,

Tears me apart, leaves nothing whole.

No dawn will heal me, no dream renew,

I′m buried alive in the loss of you



Cats-Cry-When-They-Die-

Alex Oikashvili

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