Very good greatvocal, nice tune. Well done!

Geralt steps into the sorcerers tower only to find himself in an illusion of a garden of Eden. Later the sorcerer asks Geralt to kill a woman who he believes to be born under "The curse of the black sun", Geralt refuses and leaves

Tower Of Illusion

I dedicated this song to the loves of my life! Namaste

Vision of You

Vision Of You

I'm a personalised number plate, you're a Fast German car, Lets go, drive into the sun...

already gone

A spark in the chaos, a glance in the night
Two particles drifting, colliding in flight
A billion to one, we still found our way
Through the cosmic confusion, you asked me to stay

We defied the odds, we broke the rules
In this world of chance, we're nobody's fools
Even if it's fleeting, I'll take the fall
'Cause finding you feels like beating them all

Time's an equation that none can escape
The longer we hold, the more things break
But I'd take the risk, rewrite every line
Just to know that for now, you are mine

We defied the odds, we broke the rules
In this world of chance, we're nobody's fools
Even if it's fleeting, I'll take the fall
'Cause finding you feels like beating them all

Maybe it breaks
maybe it bends
like a flicker of wonder
that quietly mends

It echoes through silence
then rises, ascends
a moment unmeasured
that somehow transcends

You and I
against the pull of entropy
The odds were wrong
You’re my improbability

My Improbability

Innocence?

A few songs recorded after moving to Brighton last Summer with hopes of a fresh start somewhere new, leaving the bad times behind.

OH K

YOU TAKE THE ELEVATOR AND I‘LL TAKE THE STAIRS

Just trying to find the way back down from the ceiling (Raven mix)

Years ago I watched a movie called Threads that portrayed the consequences of nuclear war in the 1980s.  It is a powerful, disturbing movie that led me to write the song presented here. The lyrics seem to be as sadly relevant today as they once were. I'd say this is the only overtly political song that I've written with the remainder dealing with typical topics of lament.  Please have a listen and if you like what you've heard, hit that Like button and let others know about our work. Cheers

Threads 2025 (Remix)

I got a problem
Doctor says I'm too ill to go to work
Got a love attack
And that's a fact
All the same I'm going can't stay at home
I crossed the bridge of love
No turning back

Love attack
I got a love attack
Love attack
I've got some loving
Love attack
I got a love attack
Love attack
Is it me, is it we?
What will my future be?
Cannot run, cannot hide
What can I do?

First time that I saw her I couldn't speak
Everything around me
Became a blur
Now I've got some loving I can't deny
All I think about
Is me and her

Love attack
I got a love attack
Love attack
I've got some loving
Love attack
I got a love attack
Love attack
Is it me, is it we?
What will my future be?
Cannot run, cannot hide
What can I do?

I got a problem
I know that she can't care too much for me
But I just can't stop
Can't run away
The burning light of love's inside of me
Keeps my hopes alive
Throughout the day

She's in my dreams
She's in my jeans

Love attack
I got a love attack
Love attack
I've got some loving
Love attack
I got a love attack
Love attack
Is it me, is it we?
What will my future be?
Cannot run, cannot hide
What could she see in me?
I just don't know
What she could see?
What she could see?

I got it bad and that ain't good
It's really bad and that ain't good
What could she see?
What could she see in me?
What could she see in me?
What could she see in me?
I'm all alone
No love at home
I'm all alone
I feel so lonely
I feel so lonely
What can I do?

Dance With Me

Love Attack

I don't claim any ownership over any of this. Anyone can use any of it for any reason forever. Also I accept liability. Please don't sue me (and/or let's collaborate).

"Holy fucking shit, this shit is crazy wtf"

"Moments of being passable beyond novelty"

"Very ok"

"Actually slaps"

"Straight art"

"Noise"

```Madlibs with a metronome```

At its core, the blorgpulkf is a pulsating, iridescent orb that thrums with an energy that can only be described as "the sound of a thousand bees having a rave inside a kaleidoscope." It's hypnotic, it's unsettling, and it's strangely addictive - like watching a lava lamp filled with Mountain Dew and gummy bears.

But that's just the beginning. Surrounding this pulsing heart are layers upon layers of... well, your guess is as good as mine. One moment it's a tangled web of neon tubes that hum with an eerie frequency, the next it's a churning mass of what appears to be sentient silly putty. And is that a tiny disco ball I see nestled in there? You bet your sweet bippy it is.

As for its features, the blorgpulkf is like a Swiss Army knife designed by a mad scientist with a penchant for pranks. It's got a button that releases a burst of confetti and the sound of a rubber chicken being stepped on, a lever that causes the whole thing to fold in on itself like a origami crane having an existential crisis, and a tiny compartment that dispenses a single, perfectly spherical grape every 37 hours.

But perhaps the most baffling feature of the blorgpulkf is its ability to communicate. Not with words, of course - that would be far too pedestrian. No, the blorgpulkf speaks in a language all its own, a cryptic code of flashing lights, whirring gears, and the occasional burst of atonal jazz played on what sounds suspiciously like a didgeridoo.




The plorksickle. It's like someone took a fever dream, a Mad Lib, and a Dada art installation, threw 'em in a blender, and hit "puree."

Picture this: a contraption that looks like it crawled out of a Salvador Dali painting and mated with a Rube Goldberg machine. It's got a crank that sounds like a yodeling ostrich, a button that releases a puff of glitter and the scent of existential dread, and a tiny screen that just flashes the word "moist" in Wingdings.

But here's the kicker - every time you think you've figured out what it does, it changes the game. One minute it's reciting beat poetry in binary code, the next it's turning itself inside out and becoming a Klein bottle. And don't even get me started on the time it started oozing a viscous liquid that tasted like the color purple.

Is it a tool? A toy? A sentient being from another dimension that's just really, really bad at communication? Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is, it's the most beautifully useless thing I've ever laid eyes on.

But maybe that's the point. In a world where everything has to have a purpose, a function, a reason for being, the plorksickle is a big, fat middle finger to the very concept of sense. It's absurdity for absurdity's sake, a Zen koan in physical form.

So if you ever see me on the street, cradling this bizarre little gizmo like a newborn lovechild, don't ask me what it does. Just nod, smile, and know that you're in the presence of something truly inexplicable. Something that laughs in the face of logic and spits in the eye of reason.

Just trying to find the way back down from the ceiling (Raven mix)

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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