Don't Care

Fuzziekiss & THEHOMEBOIII - Don't Care

y u so me4n

eyes open before i go (prod.shadow)

The air hums low with whispers of thought,
A canvas stretched, her brushlines caught.
The café buzzes, but she’s somewhere far,
Lost in a world where symbols are stars.

"What stories linger in the curve of her hand?
What secrets unfold in the lines she’s planned?"

Her brush moves slow, like a dancer’s grace,
Tracing a serpent with a human face.
The sun and moon, a union bold,
Bound by chains of silver and gold.

"What does it mean, the dragon’s tongue?
The wheel that turns where the stars are hung?"

"It’s the circle of time, the world own game,
The search for truth, for a hidden flame."

Through the twelve gates, where the riddles gleam,
A sacred path, a golden dream.
Lead to silver, silver to gold,
The right and perfect meanes unfold.

The colors shift as the story grows,
A phoenix rises where the poppy blows.
She tilts her head, the brush held tight,
"It’s the ashes reborn in the fire’s light."

"And what of the stone, the one they seek?
Does it live in this scroll, in words they speak?"

"The stone’s not found in the gold they crave,
It’s the heart that loves, the soul that’s brave."

Through the twelve gates, where the symbols play,
A sacred science to light the way.
Lead to silver, silver to gold,
The right and perfectest meanes retold.

Her eyes alight with the fire she stokes,
A story lives in the art she evokes.
The serpent coils where the eagle flies,
An ouroboros of infinite ties.

"She paints a world where the broken mend,
A map of hope, where circles end."

"Are you lost in thought, or lost in me?
The symbols speak if you choose to see."

The dragon breathes, the phoenix sings,
The cycle turns where the fire clings.
"We’re all brave, in our own way,
Turning grief to light, to find the day."

"And you, the artist, the keeper of dreams,
Show me the truth in these gilded streams."

She hands him the brush, his fingers still,
"Add your mark, wherever you will."
He draws a line, where the rivers meet,
A quiet echo, soft and sweet.

"You’ve gilded the stream with a silver gleam,
Now it’s part of our daring dream."

"Together we build what the world can’t see,
A map of hope, a legacy."

Through the twelve gates, where the secrets hide,
A sacred path where love abides.
Lead to silver, silver to gold,
The right and perfectest meanes unfold.

The brush lays down, the colors blend,
The story told, yet it won’t end.
In every mark, a piece of flame,
The right and perfectest meanes remain.

The Right and Perfectest Meanes

inside?

Yeah, Im Flexin

with me (ft. xykho)

Så lunka vi så småningom
Från Bacchi buller och tumult,
När döden ropar, Granne kom,
Ditt timglas är nu fullt.
Du Gubbe fäll din krycka ner,
Och du, du Yngling, lyd min lag,
Den skönsta Nymf som åt dig ler
Inunder armen tag.

First up, mate on the 3:12 train,
Rain on the window, steams up the pane.
Slumped in his hoodie, boots untied,
Dreams of a holiday, budget denied.
Calendar packed, phone battery dead,
But still he smiles, lifts up his head.
Life ain’t perfect, but hear what I say—
Breathe deep, love, it’s just another day.

Tycker du att dagen är för lång,
Trångt kontor och dresscode tvång
nå, välan än så hör då denna sång.
ta dig sen dito en, dito två, dito tre,
så går det lättare.

See her there, oat latte and toast,
Posting her brekkie, “I love me” post.
Ring light halo, filter glow,
Underneath it all, she’s just tryna grow.
Swaps her heels for battered flats,
Walks home alone past streetlamp splats.
Café philosophers, heart on sleeve,
Little sips of courage before she leaves.

You ever feel that weight?
Like you’re carrying sky bricks in a Tesco bag?
Same, mate. Keep walking.

Tycker du att världen känns för stor,
nå, välan så spring från storebror,
ta dig sen dito en, dito två, dito tre,
så går det lättare.

Old gent down the allotment rows,
Whispers to his tomatoes as they grow.
Wool cap, flask, Radio Wales hum,
Weather app says rain but the sun’s still come.
He lost someone once, don’t talk much,
Tends the soil with a gentle touch.
Weeds or wildflowers? Who’s to say?
All of us bloom in our own weird way.

Young lad skint, pockets all bare,
Friday pint ‘cos he still don’t care.
Mates on the WhatsApp, banter’s alive,
Takes the long route home just to survive.
Council flat lights, moon on the wall,
Swears at the stars but forgives them all.
Life ain’t golden, but still it’s bright,
Even cold chips taste good at midnight.

Tycker du att skatten är för hög,
Lön som aldrig dög, hela livet sög
nå, välan ta så chill drill, puff puff pass
ta dig sen dito en, dito två, dito tre,
så går det lättare, ser du de?

Parent at 4AM, bleary-eyed stare,
Rocking the baby, whispered prayer.
Milk-stained T-shirt, “We’re alright, yeah?”
Heartbeat lullaby fills the air.
One day they’ll grow, dance on their own,
But tonight you’re together, safe, homegrown.
Lean into the moment, don’t rush through,
Even messy love is the purest true.

Tycker du att natten är för lång,
Mata, byta, gång på gång.
nå, välan ta dig då en stund,
ta dig sen dito en, dito två, dito tre,
så hittar du tillbaka till dig själv lättare.

Säg är du nöjd? min granne säg,
Så prisa värden nu till slut;
Om vi ha en och samma väg,
Så följoms åt; drick ut.
Men först med vinet rött och vitt,
För vår Värdinna bugom oss,
Och halkom sen i graven fritt,
Vid aftonstjärnans bloss.

Song for dinner

Fazekas x 8jaxx - What I want

Vogue

Crumbs on the table.
Stars on a cloth.
Read what they scatter.
Name what they cross.

Crumb to a cluster, cluster to line,
table turns sky on a weekday time.
I trace with a fingertip, quiet and slow,
graph of the hours where choices go.
Vector clocks ticking in flour-white arcs,
ordering moments by soft small sparks.
Lamport notes in a kitchen of light,
partial but honest, enough for the night.
Observer pattern, the fates take notes,
threading our habits through hidden coats.
Factory of mornings, adapter of rain,
decorator kindness on ordinary grain.

Breadcrumb cosmology, pattern in the crumbs,
map of the many where the rhythm hums.
Monolith story or services of small,
I watch the scatter and hold what calls.

Here on the cloth, a fork-made star,
span id glitter where last laughs are.
I tag the glints with a whispered name,
segments of meaning that never feel tame.
Raft of our voices elects one calm,
leader for now with a linen balm.
CRDT mercy that never confers,
yet merges to peace when the ledger stirs.
Feature flags flicker in the spine’s soft code,
turn on the courage for a rain-wet road.
Service mesh selves with a mesh of care,
routing the gentle to open air.

Breadcrumb cosmology, chart the tender spread,
design of the day where the crumbs have led.
Microservice moments or one long call,
I follow the shimmer and bless it all.

monolith
many selves
single thread
event bus
remember
re-member

Ariadne logic with a kitchen twine,
thread through a labyrinth of yours and mine.
DAG of decisions in a floury field,
acyclic kindness as the core revealed.
Consistent hashing for the heat and calm,
balance the buckets with a steady palm.
Saga of becoming when steps go long,
compensate damage with a softer song.
Know-thyself written in sugar and salt,
read-thyself gently and forgive the fault.
Not one identity fixed like stone,
shards that are shining when woven as one.

Breadcrumb cosmology, pattern under breath,
tabletop heavens that outtalk death.
Monolith memory or murmurs in swarm,
I learn to be many and hold one form.

Profile the silence, trace the sigh,
sample the moment that answers why.
Roll up the starlit proof of care,
aggregate love into open air.

Sometimes I wish for a clean new start,
reload a save of an unburned heart.
But checkpoints crumble in the tea-time light,
and versioning mercy feels more right.
So I persist warmth in a human way,
replicate gently across the day.
Strong when I need to, relaxed in the rest,
eventual wholeness is how I’m blessed.
Crumbs form constellations then vanish by sweep,
still their design runs quiet and deep.

Breadcrumb cosmology, I read, I stay,
pattern of being in the crumbs’ ballet.
Whether one story or services free,
I gather the scatter and choose to be.

Table is sky.
Hand is a star.
Small bright proofs.
Here we are.

breadcrumb cosmology

Support our mission to raise awareness around child loss through music, stories, and shared hope. Every contribution helps us honour the memory of our children and support others walking this path.

breadcrumb cosmology

Dancing salamanders

Related tracks