Very professional song 👍🏻 good voice and good vibes 😎

Carolina Girl

Maybe it's Moshiach Maybelline

"Ballroom of Deceit" is my cry of outrage — a lament for truth, history, and decency buried under the rubble of corruption.
Trump said it “wouldn’t touch” the East Wing. He lied AGAIN. Now the White House — the People’s House — bleeds dust and memories while the wrecking claws tear through centuries of American heritage. All so one man could build himself a monument of ego: a golden ballroom for his own reflection. 

This isn’t just about architecture. It’s about arrogance.

About the hungry going unfed, the sick untreated, the poor ignored — while taxpayers’ money is burned for self-glorification. It’s about erasing history to build a lie. 

“Ballroom of Deceit” isn’t just a song — it’s a requiem for the truth. For every promise shattered, every voice silenced, every soul disgusted by what’s being done in our name. May the music remember what greed is trying to destroy. 

💥 Let the walls shake. Let the truth rise.


LYRICS:
[Verse 1]
He swore the walls would stand untouched,
Just shadows near the light,
But cranes are clawing history,
Through the hollow of the night.
Marble ghosts are crying out,
From the dust beneath our feet,
Truth lies buried with the stones,
And justice knows defeat. 

[Pre-Chorus 1]
He said it wouldn’t touch the heart,
But the cracks run deep inside—
In gilded halls of vanity,
The truth itself has died. 

[Chorus 1]
Welcome to the ballroom of deceit,
Built on the bones of a promise betrayed.
The echoes of truth, drowned in the beat,
Of lies that the faithful parade.
History fades under glitter and glass,
And we pay for the sins of the past.
Welcome to the ballroom of deceit,
Where the ghosts of the people still weep. 

[Verse 2]
They said it wouldn’t cost a dime,
Yet taxpayers bleed once more,
While hunger grows in city streets,
And children beg at broken doors.
The sick still wait for healing hands,
As mansions rise for kings,
And classrooms crumble into dust,
While greed builds golden wings. 

[Pre-Chorus 2]
He said it wouldn’t take from us,
But we’re the ones who pay—
Each dollar burned in arrogance,
Could’ve saved a soul today. 

[Chorus 2]
Welcome to the ballroom of deceit,
Where opulence buries the pain.
The hungry cry beneath his feet,
While he dances in disdain.
History bleeds from a painted smile,
And truth is sold by the mile.
Welcome to the ballroom of deceit,
Where the people’s dreams retreat. 

[Verse 3]
They raze the walls of memory,
To carve his name in stone,
A monument to vanity,
A kingdom of his own.
The echoes of the East Wing fall,
Like prayers that go unheard,
Each shattered pane a testament,
To every broken word. 

[Bridge]
If greed had a heartbeat, it would sound like this—
Pounding over reason, drowning innocence.
Every brick a bullet, every dollar a sin,
When power feasts, the people grow thin.
Can’t you hear the ghosts still calling?
“Give back what was never yours.” 

[Chorus 3] 
Welcome to the ballroom of deceit,
Where the chandeliers drip shame.
You can gild the rot beneath your feet,
But it still reeks just the same.
History weeps in a minor key,
While the nation pays the fee.
Welcome to the ballroom of deceit,
Built on arrogance, lies, and greed. 

[Outro]
So dance, oh king of ruin, dance—
Your mirror lies to you tonight.
When the dust of your empire settles,
Only truth will stand in light.
And the ballroom falls—
To quiet.

Ballroom of Deceit

All Music By Me
Special Thanks to Toxic Bros., John Moreland,  Jerk Mama 

Art by Nanne Tiggelman (PixaBay)

Happiness

Love Myself Right

◉ Follow Magdalena Meisel:
@magdalenameisel
Malovana website : https://malovana.eu/

November 1st is a time for remembrance and remembering those who have passed away. On this special day, we have something for you that we've long held close to our hearts. "Dad" is our musical dedication to all those who are no longer with us, but whose memories live on.

We invite you to listen to this track from the #Malovana project.

The sun is setting already
After night, there is no day
I won't look into your eyes
They are distant as fog

Don't be afraid to dream
Trust me
No one will
take your peace
Don't be afraid, even though
It's the end and drown
In the land of shadows,
In the land of beliefs

Darkness has flooded the world
And tears on my cheek
There will be no dawn tomorrow
Serene, just like you

Don't be afraid to dream
Trust me
No one will
take your peace
Don't be afraid, even though
It's the end and drown
In the land of shadows,
In the land of beliefs

I was sure you'd come back
I was already counting down the days
Incorrigible optimism
He laughed in my face.

Don't be afraid to dream
Trust me
No one will
take your peace
Don't be afraid, even though
It's the end and drown
In the land of shadows,
In the land of beliefs

Vocal : Magdalena Meisel
Music : Magdalena Meisel, Jarosław Toifl, Artur Wypich
Lyrics : Sylwia Lizoń
Producer/publisher : Krzysztof Wartak, Malovana

Malovana is a band in its musical form, inspired by the works of painters, concept artists, and designers.

Imagine approaching the painting "Demon" and hearing the buzz, conversations, and music. Krzysztof Wartak's inspiration for "Malovana" brought selected works of art to life through sound, emotion, and narrative. The songs encompass a wide range of texts, also touching on vivid historical figures and timeless events. The results of this unprecedented project will be experienced during concerts organized by the Malovana band in 2025, where outstanding musicians will perform. Their interpretations will transform many works of art and historical events from now on.

Tato | Dad

The Scene

A high-energy country-rock & hard-rock remake of the Bee Gees classic — flipped into a guitar-driven, 80s-inspired ReVampd anthem. Big riffs, heavy groove, and gritty vocals bring this retro classic into a modern rock world. Perfect for fans of 80s rock revival, glam metal, and country-rock crossovers.

🔥 Featured on the “Country Gets Rocked” playlist.
👇 Drop your favorite timestamp — which moment hits hardest?

Country Gets Rocked

Stayin Alive ReVampd

Stayin Alive ReVampd (Country Rock Anthem)

I wrote this song to help me forget my toothache... it worked! 

Children of the Stars

une chanson de Stéphane Jacques et Alban Jacques Bouquette .
Un petit côté " Les Pères Jacques " sous acide » !
interprétée et réalisée par Stéphane (chant)et moi-même (instruments et programmations)au Studio d’Azy.

d'autres productions du Studio :
Alban Jacques Bouquette; Crime scene do not
https://open.spotify.com/album/0u2I9asjlocBHFpkhcanHe?si=plTAM01yTKG1WZsUGD_SNQ

Les Pères Jacques : Gare aux morilles
itunes.apple.com/fr/album/gare-au…lles/id349787488
www.deezer.com/album/475803
youtu.be/saM0FZ5LllM

Princesse jazzy

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.

Maybe it's Moshiach Maybelline

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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