I did listen to and enjoy the previous version, so am curious about this version. I like the way in which distinctive types of music are associated with the four directions. And then a variety of nautical sounds for the respective oceans and seas. And so on. This is a wondrous mix of complementary musical backing for the varied aspects considered here.

this is really nice Annie,really enjoyable

Another beautiful production.  Great work, Annie.

Magnifique soundscape et très belle interprétation 👌

Egotism Vanishes

Edge Of The World

Going to the festival and there's no one to see. 
May as well take these pills on the way in with me.
We're staying up all night cos we don't need no sleep.
No cash, no fags, no tent and nothing to eat.
Slowly were going insane.
Shane, we all know your name.

Going to the festival and there's plenty to drink. 
We didn't bring it, but who cares what they think.
Wander round all night cos you ain't going to sleep.
No bed. No bag. No phones and nothing to eat. 
Slowly, we're going insane.
Shane, we all know your name.

Three days will go by in an instant.
Five years will go by in a flash.
Your life be gone before you know it so watch out.
Get yourself to the festival 
Best of all?
Now.

Going to the festival and you don't have to think.
May as well enjoy it while your lives on the brink. 
Staying home alone's no fun with nothing to do. 
No job. No home. No bird and no one to screw.
Slowly, we were going insane.
Shane, we all know your name 

Three days will go by in an instant.
Five years will go by in a flash.
Your life be gone before you know it so watch out.
Get yourself to the festival 
Best of all?
Now.

Folk Festival

Bluebells

“La pluie du temps” (Rain of time) is a poetic instrumental piece about how we often feel rushed about the time passing by until a sudden beautiful moment stops us making us live the precious moment, making us wonder and admire life’s beauty. Just as if time had stopped for a couple of seconds, minutes or hours.

La pluie du temps

K3EF - In Stormy Seas

Arctic soundscapes with a haunting yet warm voice full of emotions, this is how Inyha paints her inner emotional world where ice & snow covers the warmth of her heart, where walls of silence create distance, where mirrors of ice show her own disguise, while all she longs for is nearness and love. 

This is the shortened Radio version of the song.

Snowflakes dancing in the dark

Snowflakes Dancing in the Dark (Radio Edit)

Letters From Home

Translation above 

Texte de Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel, www.facebook.com/jeanpaul.gaidodaniel
https://soundcloud.com/gaidodaniel06
Dessin de Émile Boussu (1914), mofifié

Barbe à papa

Sur des chemins de cathédrales où les hommes s’égarent, je ne distingue plus que quelques corps…    livides.
Ma main est toute moite.
L’horloge a dû sonner…
Le coq ne chante plus. On lui a coupé les ailes pour qu’il ne puisse en rien gêner le voisinage.

Le canon a tonné du haut des citadelles, là où le son des cris se hume au creux des vagues.

Je serpente des tombes à deux doigts du massacre.
Ils ont bu du vin chaud venu de l’au-delà, et j’écrasais des dogmes de mes pieds de salaud.

NE SIGNEZ PAS ! JAMAIS SUR DES LIVRES DE MESSES !

Déconnectez les portes de ces maisons faciles où l’on vous donne à boire des relents de sagesse.
La sagesse ? Eh ! mon cul ! Ça se boit à minuit avec des camarades et quelques chats complices, muets comme des carpes, roulés dans leur pelisse.
Un vrai cadeau de Dieu ? Si Dieu il y a… sans voile et sans barbe à papa…

Enfin, je mets les voiles avec vous, mes seigneurs. Je débarquerai là, sous des portes cochères pour y nourrir le Diable de quelques salaisons à crever de plaisir, et de chaînes rouillées.
Vous, qui souffrez tout seuls. Non de non, camarades !

Musique de Myckaël Marcovic, 27/12/2023
Dessin de Émile Boussu (1914), mofifié

Text by Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel, www.facebook.com/jeanpaul.gaidodaniel
Drawing by Émile Boussu (1914), modified

Cotton candy

On cathedral roads where men go astray, I can only make out a few bodies... livid.
My hand is all sweaty.
The clock must have struck...
The rooster has stopped crowing. His wings have been clipped so he can't disturb the neighbors.

The cannon has thundered from the top of the citadels, where the sound of cries can be heard in the hollow of the waves.

I snake from the graves to the slaughter.
They drank mulled wine from beyond, and I crushed dogmas with my bastard feet.

DO NOT SIGN! NEVER ON MASS BOOKS!

Unlock the doors of those easy houses where you're fed the whiff of wisdom.
Wisdom? Eh! my ass! It's drunk at midnight with comrades and a few accomplice cats, mute as carp, rolled up in their fur.
A true gift from God? If there is a God... with no veil and no cotton candy...

At last, I set sail with you, my lords. I'll disembark there, under the porte cochere, to feed the Devil a few salted meats to burst with pleasure, and rusty chains.
You, who suffer alone. No, no, comrades!

Music by Myckaël Marcovic, 27/12/2023
Drawing by Émile Boussu (1914), modified

Barbe à papa (Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel / Myckaël Marcovic)

rockon2018

cloud surfing

Before a shamanic ceremony, it is the usual practice to make a prayer to the spirits of the four directions. This is my own version.

Words and vocals
© Annie Dieu-Le-Veut, 2023 

Music
APi_ZZ (© Andreas Pirner) 
https://soundcloud.com/api_zz

Cover Art: 
Medicine Wheel by Marnie Recker 
Buy a print of it here: https://www.etsy.com/au/listing/901699327/medicine-wheel-print-11x14


Lyrics:
I bow to the four directions. 

To the East. The red dawn air 
Sighing over the China seas, 
Blow the nomad trade winds 
Along your Silk Road, 
Your Bay of Bengal
And swirling pyres of Varanasi, 
Through the temples of Tibet 
And the spiced Vedic lees. 
Bring Vayu's sweet sylphs 
To inspire our creativity. 

To the West. The deep Atlantic 
Heaves and tosses the merrows,
Your swirling whirlpools 
And drowned, forgotten reefs
Of mermaids and mer-men 
On high waves and farrows. 
Bring up from Lir's feet 
That purest of aqua cold. 
Sail it fast over the Irish sea 
And across the Menai roll 
To wash away our pain and fear 
And heal our troubled souls. 

To the North. Soil of our minds,
Your caves of quartz and tourmaline
And your blue melting glaciers 
Birthing borates from ice 
Under the Borealis, the stars 
Circling like glittering brides. 
Roll your satyrs and sylvestres 
Through the bleak Calanish stones 
Over the rivers, brooks and glens, 
To the oolite gold of Avalon  
It's Thirteen Treasures and gems. 

To the South. Cast your castanets 
Your smouldering salamanders, 
Your fierce Romany cantinas
Your red lipped, red hipped skies 
And your sultry, dusky sun-downers. 
When the frangipani and mimosa 
Whispers with exotic aroma 
And the heart promises ‘Soon’, 
Give us the southern comfort, 
The tango and the wild fandango 
To spark our dancing shoes. 

© Annie Dieu-Le-Veut, 2023

The Medicine Wheel v2

Poet, author and podcaster on metaphysics, alchemy and shamanism. 

On here, I'm a lyricist and vocalist who's lucky enough to have met a few fellow travellers that help me to bring my poems to life with their inspired musical creations. So if you'd like a collab, do message me.

Hyperfollow: https://hyperfollow.com/anniedieuleveut

The Medicine Wheel v2

Annie Dieu-Le-Veut

Recent comments

LARENGONAT

Tricky Cat Records

Denis Caouette

Franco_Toscano

Related tracks