Very interesting plot here.   Another splendid collaboration.

Always such an enjoyable listen David. A wonderful track and concept. Lovely production and excellent playing and narration.

fine guitar playing - reminds me of David Gilmore

what vis regret after all..and what is forgiveness for those things we regret?? is it even wirth asking for forgivness if the damage has been done..possibly if we don't ever do it again we can earn forgiveness..great music and poetry here

Having recently had to do the same for my mom's house, this one really struck a cord (or a chord, if you will). Gave me chills, and the guitar solo was beautiful, with a touch of Gilmore.

Time passes, with the good and bad memories still present.... And it's hard to ignore them at the moment. Thank you for sharing this fabulous musical moment where everyone brings the best of themselves ....

Original intro...cool use of vocals...top lyrics...clean guitar solo...simply fantastic...! 🌍 ☮︎ 👍

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Time Turns Back Open Collab Offer

Congratulations to an unknown birthday

Solace in the Apocalypse

Music : Janne Hennie & Little Man
Lyrics & vocals : Janne Hennie

Deep inside me I have a secret place
No one knows about it
You can't see it on my face
There I can hide what I don't won't you to see
Love and anger
The truth about me..

Chorus:
In my little Chamber, my secrets are safe
And maybe one day I will take you to that place
Every tear I never showed
The words I never said
Are hidden in my chamber
My true self is there

All the love I never got to share
The pain and sorrow
It's all hidden there
All the frustration I had to put away
The honest words I couldn't say..

Chorus

Chorus

Deep inside me I have a secret place
No one knows about it
You can't see it on my face
There I can hide what I don't want you to see
Love and anger
The truth about me...

Chorus

Every tear I never showed
The words I never said
Are hidden in my chamber
My true self is there...

My Little Chamber

Lil Red Boots is a heartfelt country story written by Melinda Klotz Mercer and performed by Kitty Carmichael. Inspired by childhood memories of the red boots her grandfather gave her at age five, the song celebrates courage, faith, and the fearless spirit that carries us through life. With warm acoustic guitars, fiddle accents, and an uplifting chorus, it’s a modern country anthem of resilience, gratitude, and new beginnings.

Lil Red Boots

Little snail travels through the prairie

Years ago, my brothers and I had spent several weeks getting my dad's house ready to sell after he had passed. I was in the realtor's office ready to sign the paper work when the prospective buyers asked why I wasn't buying the house I grew up in.  I said (not thinking) "Too many ghosts".  The realtor immediately jumped in and said, "he means memories" to which I smiled confirming the needed clarification:)  It does beg the question however, how many "ghosts" haunt our lives; bad decisions, fractured relationships, things we did or failed to do.  I have found hope and forgiveness in the Christian faith, others have found healing in the passing of time, others still carry a heavy burden of what could have been or should have been.  Peter explores the theme in poignant verse to Seagull's quixotic soundtrack.  I am honored to  contribute a few colors to the tapestry;)
Acoustic guitars left & right; David Dunham; @david-dunhamuser589535203
Superb Poetry/Lyrics, Narration; Peter the Poet; soundcloud.com/user-264930040/tracks
Master of the music, lead guitar solo, mix & production;  Seagull @farout-music-studio
Wonderful voice: Clara Sorace
Track art: Bing images
Ghost of a Sense:

Yes, I know you.
I can feel your presence.
I can touch you, smell you.
I see you not by sight of eye
And yet I ken that you are I
That vespered wraith that writhes within
To test my faith, try my sin
Push the bounds to cause offence
A moral, soul thing, ghost of a sense recalls myself, so well defined
Entrenched, walls behind, built so sound of dust that crowned the pity, falling soft amiss,
Deep inside the tears I cry as here I find my self-abyss.

Whispers bringing shadows, filled of secrets therein held,
Memories, morose, piece me still, to wear in time, my wasted face.
And now reside, cast aside, to forge and ever meld,
Of haunting, ringing echoes, that will alone their chime erased.

Ah! But you won't twist me, nor bind me fast, to the sandy doctrines of the misty past,
With its beards and staffs and crinkled testaments.
My future's sprinkled here present with your crass irrelevance and matters not that sat right there,
The blackest chasm in my simpling world so spare,
Where space and time have overspilled the leaking psyche of a crippled mind,
That barely copes, unfulfilled, a crooked, limpid moral health of broken shrines
That hopes to find ....
.......some worthwhile inner self.

Ghost of a Sence (Seagull, Peter, David)

La locandina mostra un modo di dare voce ai cori inserendo le opportune articolazioni direttamente nella partitura in Finale27 (o anche in Sibelius, credo), evitando di utilizzare le applicazioni consigliate che non sono compatibili con questi software di composizione musicale. L’articolazione indicata con $ permette di inserire le consonanti mute. Le altre articolazioni dovrebbero essere auto-esplicative.
     The photo of the piece illustrates a way to voice choirs by inserting the appropriate articulations directly into the score in Finale27 (or even Sibelius, I believe), avoiding the use of the recommended applications that are not compatible with these music composition software. The articulation indicated by $ allows you to insert silent consonants. The other articulations should be self-explanatory.


Questa musica è il 2° brano della mia opera “SALMODIANDO” (meditazioni sui salmi)
This music is the 2nd piece of my work “SALMODIANDO” (meditations on the psalms)


Beato l’uomo che medita sulla sapienza
e ragiona con l’intelligenza,
considera nel cuore le sue vie,
ne penetra con la mente i segreti.
La insegue come uno che segue una pista,
si apposta sui suoi sentieri.
[: Egli spia alle sue finestre
 e sta ad ascoltare alla sua porta :]
Presso di essa alza la tenda
e sotto i suoi rami soggiorna.
Presso di essa alza la tenda
e sotto i suoi rami soggiorna.
Presso di essa alza la tenda
e mette i propri figli sotto la sua protezione
e sotto i suoi rami soggiorna.
Contro il caldo sarà protetto
e in un rifugio di benessere sta.
Egli abiterà all’ombra della sua gloria.  (Sir. 14, 20-27)

Blessed is the man who meditates on wisdom
and reasons with understanding,
who ponders her ways in his heart,
who penetrates her secrets with his mind.
He pursues her like one tracking a scent,
he lies in wait on her paths.
[: He watches at her windows
and listens at her door :]
He pitches his tent by her
and dwells under her branches.
He pitches his tent by her
and dwells under her branches.
He pitches his tent by her
and places his children under her protection
and dwells under her branches.
He will be protected from the heat
and dwells in a haven of comfort.
He will dwell in the shadow of her glory. (Sir. 14:20-27)

MEDITAZIONE (Sir.14 20-27)

Deer Hunter‘s Moon (Live Remix 2025)

Text:
Intro (spoken, distant):
I opened my eyes in the wrong century.
The sun was digital,
and nobody cared.

Verse 1:
The streets hum like broken organs,
faces glow blue in the night.
I asked a man for a match —
he showed me his phone.

Bridge (spoken, confused):
Where are the drummers?
Where is the smoke?
Where are the women dancing
with fire in their throats?

Chorus (half-sung, echoing):
I’m back from the fever dream,
but the dream forgot my name.
I’m back from the cosmic stream,
but nothing feels the same.

(Solo)

Verse 2:
The poets talk in headlines now,
the lovers swipe instead of kiss.
I saw a mirror on a wall —
it showed me what I missed.

Bridge (spoken, building):
I think I died once,
but no one told me.
They wrote songs,
but forgot the melody.

Chorus (sung stronger):
I’m back from the fever dream,
crawling through the screen.
The dead still write the news,
and the living just read the scene.

Breakdown (spoken, manic):
There’s a god in the algorithm,
a priest in the feed,
a million prophets screaming
what no one needs.

They sell salvation
with an access code,
and I —
I’m just trying to find the road!

(Guitar-Solo)

Final Chorus (sung, echoing):
I’m back from the fever dream,
I came too late to see.
The world moved on without me,
and now —
it dreams of me.

Outro (spoken softly):
Maybe I never died.
Maybe the world did.
And I just woke up
to watch it sleep.

My name is Jim Morriso… äh Jim, only Jim

Hey… Thanks for dropping by. As a young boy, around sixty years ago, I used to like to listen to old people as they rambled on with stories about their lives. I really enjoyed those stories. I am an old man now, and I tend to ramble on, as well. This song is about that…. as I wake up to a chilly autumn morning. I have been busy ‘buttoning things up’ for winter. Collecting seeds, preparing garden beds, raking leaves, moving stuff inside, winterizing my home, getting winter gear ready, and other such sundry tasks, some of which I had forgotten about, like filling a tub with gardening soil and compost for planting seeds next spring. So I put the tub right by my front door. Ha. I have mixed feelings about heading into another long mountain winter. Throw old age into the mix and boy, am I having fun. I have also been sitting outside quietly, as flocks of birds fly by. Some flocks temporarily stop here to rest and feed, before winging off. It is fascinating to watch the dynamics of the flocks and how different kinds of birds interact. There are high flying geese, cranes and ducks overhead as well. All those birds are vocal, and when I am outside working, I tend to whistle along with them. They don’t seem to mind. The relative harmonious balance of it all is so refreshing to watch. Although a robin, or two, in the mountain ash always seems to be chasing other robins away from the berry laden tree. There are more berries in that tree than all those robins could ever eat, and I watch as the chased away robins sneak back into the tree. Some older birds die here in the yard, as they are no longer up for the long migration ahead. Sad to see. I often find one or two of them, dead each year, huddled peacefully in the deep grass, or hidden elsewhere. It has also snowed several times here in October… Hope you’re doing well. Mark  

Autumnal Ramblings Of An Old Man

I am a finger-style guitarist living on the Texas high plains.  At the core of my music is melody that is inspired and informed by my Christian faith, family, friends, and countless influences through the years from the great composers, to jazz, folk, rock, Latin, Celtic, and the many fine musicians I have come to love on the Cloud, some I have been privileged to collaborate with.  Thanks for stopping by to have a listen. Comments are always welcome. Feel free to click on the picture of any track to learn more about it.

Ghost of a Sence (Seagull, Peter, David)

David Dunham

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