The Dark Side (REMIX)

Eagle's Awakening

Together We Stand.

Where Love Simply Is — a quiet interlude in the Virtues Series.

A song born not from intention, but from realization.
A moment of awakening — quiet, tender, true.

It appeared in the flow of life,
as if love itself had been waiting to be heard.
No virtue to define — only presence,
the still ground beneath all that moves.

This piece isn’t about longing or loss.
It’s about the calm that remains when everything else falls away —
the breath that stays when words are gone.

The music carries that truth:
soft, spacious, alive —
like an exhale that turns into light.

I’m deeply grateful for this piece —
for how it emerged unplanned,
and for Marol’s sound (@zophrenia) that gave it presence,
turning silence itself into a kind of love.

✨ A quiet bridge between the virtues — the pulse beneath them all.


Where Love Simply Is

Sweetest Love of Mine hits hard from the first glance — a past love, once real, now wrapped in memory and regret. This is no simple heartbreak song — it’s a confession dressed in raw guitars and a heart that still aches. From childhood mates to something more, they shared a moment that never truly faded. Every verse carries the weight of lost chances, and every chorus is a cry for what could have been. With bright green eyes and a future he once saw so clearly, she still haunts his dreams. The rhythm moves between reflection and fire, with a voice that breaks and soars in equal measure. There’s no apology here — just honesty, scars, and the sound of a man who knows he let it slip. The hook drives hard, repeating like a heartbeat that refuses to let go.
It’s rock, it’s real, and it’s one of those songs that finds the soft spot you thought you’d buried.
Sweetest Love of Mine doesn’t ask for sympathy — it just tells the truth the way it was meant to be told.

Listen on your platform
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https://soundcloud.com/keith-jones-281413858
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Lyrics
Sweetest Love of Mine

Every time I see her takes me back
Back to a time when my childhood memories ran free
It was a time when, I felt so safe and free
A time when me and her were mates (so happy)

We grew up and for a while we were partners
Now when I see her, I wish we could go back to then
Now if I think too long about it, I grow weak at the knees
I was such a fool back then, to let her, make her go

Whoa, oh-oh
She could have been mine
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
She was the sweetest love of mine

I remember looking in her bright green eyes
I could see my future, the way it should have been
But, I was young and stupid and blew that dream
I wish I could be with her now, she would be my Queen

Whoa, oh-oh
She could have been mine
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
She was the sweetest love of mine

Lately, I have seen her on her own
Trying to work up the nerve, to say hello
Way back then, I mucked up so bad
I know I broke her heart and I do not want to make her sad

Whoa, oh-oh
She could have been mine
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
She was the sweetest love of mine

Lately, I have seen her on her own
Trying to work up the nerve, to say hello
Way back then, I mucked up so bad
I know I broke her heart and I do not want to make her sad

Whoa, oh-oh
She could have been mine
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
She was the sweetest love of mine

Oh-oh, what do I do?
What do I do now?
No, no, no, no, she was the sweetest love of mine

Whoa, oh-oh
She could have been mine
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
She was the sweetest love of mine Whoa, oh-oh-oh

Keywords
Sweetest Love of Mine, past love, memory and regret, heartbreak song, raw guitars, childhood mates, lost chances, green eyes, future he once saw, haunts his dreams, reflection and fire, voice that breaks, honesty and scars, heartbeat that refuses, soft spot

#rocknroll #rockandroll #classicrock #rockmusic #hardrock #rock #punkrock #alternativerock #rockband #rockstar #rockon #heavymetal #metalmusic #metalcore #bluesrock

Sweetest Love of Mine

Sweetest Love of Mine - She Could of Been Mine

The song uses the metaphor and a couple turns of phrase from Robert Frost's Winter Wind & Window Flower to create a contemporary tune. His lyrics have been dramatically changed, but he gets, and deserves, credit for a wonderful  love lost metaphor. Thanks Bob...hope you don't turn in your grave.

The Winter Wind & Window Flower

Winter Wind & Window Flower

ELON-SUN-0300 - We Built the City of Fire

Scarlet In The Night

I learned to make a fist from my older brother at five,
and trust me, that skill’s kept me alive more times than I can count.
He showed me how to square up before I knew how to spell my name.
We didn’t have bedtime stories—we had bruises and broken lamps.
Mama prayed, Daddy drank, and we ducked when the shouting started.
I wore my first scar like a badge and never asked for a refund.
By seven, I knew how to take a hit and how to hide the tears.
By ten, I stopped hiding anything at all.
I’m a fighter, always have been, even when I didn’t want to be.
This skin’s beyond thin—it’s paper stretched over dynamite.
One twist, one wrong word, and I’m back in the ring.
It’s not about winning—it’s about not backing down.
I’ve thrown punches in parking lots and whispered apologies in hospital rooms.
I’ve fought for love, for pride, for silence, for nothing.
Sometimes I fight just to feel something that isn’t shame.
Sometimes I fight because it’s the only thing I trust to stay.
I’ve been hit by friends, by strangers, by truths I wasn’t ready for.
I’ve lost teeth, lost time, lost the thread of who I was supposed to be.
I’ve seen the look in her eyes when she realized I wasn’t safe to love.
I’ve walked out of rooms I should’ve stayed in and stayed in fights I should’ve walked from.
I’ve buried the best parts of me under layers of defense.
I’ve told myself I’m fine while bleeding through my shirt.
I’ve made peace with the fact that peace never made time for me.
I’ve stared down mirrors and dared them to blink first.
I don’t romanticize the damage—I just carry it.
I don’t ask for forgiveness—I just keep moving.
I don’t know what healing looks like, but I know what survival costs.
I don’t cry anymore, but I still flinch when someone says “safe.”
I’m the kind of man who’d die from a blow he didn’t see coming.
Not because he’s weak, but because he’s always looking the other way.
I’ve got stories stitched into my knuckles and regrets tattooed on my ribs.
I’ve got a heart that punches back and a mind that won’t stay quiet.
I’ve got a past that won’t let go and a future I don’t trust.
I’ve got one truth left: I fight.
Not for glory. Not for fame.
Just because that’s what got me down the line.
That’s just me.
No anthem. No apology.
Just a man who learned to swing
and never stopped.
That’s just me.(That’s just me.)That’s just me.
That’s just me.(That’s just me.)That’s just me.
That’s just me.(That’s just me.)That’s just me.
That’s just me.(That’s just me.)That’s just me

All rights reserved by songwriter and producer Edwin H. Balder.
For more ride-and-rock tracks, click here: https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/rusty-marshall-band?si=c5040230a7334213b5d7609527997d7c&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

That’s Just Me Rusty Marshall Band

(spoken)
From the depths of Siberian soil, a man rises… Not a saint. Not a devil.
Simply the one who cannot be stopped.
“The Man They Could Not Kill” is a heavy, cinematic metal ballad starts with a narrator voice speaking Russian, built around the myth and historical shadow of Grigori Rasputin. The song portrays him not as a saint, nor as a monster, but as a force that terrified those in power simply because he did not obey their structure. The lyrics follow his rise from the brutal, mystical harshness of Siberia into the decadent courts of the Romanovs, where his presence disrupted the polished, dying facade of imperial Russia.
The chorus highlights his infamous reputation: a wandering mystic who could calm the tsarevich’s bleeding, yet walked the corridors of royalty like a ghost no bullet could claim. The nobles saw him as an insult to their hierarchy — a peasant standing beside the throne — and the song leans into the tension between class arrogance and the primal charisma Rasputin embodied.
Musically, the tone is dark, minor-key, and atmospheric, with slow-burn verses and a soaring, dramatic chorus built for a full wall-of-sound guitar rise. The bridge drops to a cold, spoken sequence, pulling the listener into the night of his assassination.
The core theme:
You cannot kill a myth once the world has decided to believe it.

Rasputin - The Man They Could Not Kill

Dieser Song ist eine schonungslose Abrechnung mit alten Mustern.
Eine Reise zurück – zu all den Momenten, in denen geschwiegen, verdrängt, gegessen wurde,
statt zu fühlen, zu sprechen, zu heilen.

Marco Memory beschreibt, wie er über Jahre hinweg Dinge „geschluckt“ hat:
Gefühle, die keinen Platz fanden.
Sätze, die verletzt haben.
Fastfood, Zucker, Ersatz.
All das hat Spuren hinterlassen – körperlich, seelisch, tief.

Doch der Song bleibt nicht in der Vergangenheit stehen.
Er ist ein Wendepunkt.
Eine Entscheidung:
Ich hör auf, mich selbst zu vergiften. Ich wähle neu. Und diesmal mich.

Ein Track, der weh tut – aber heilt.
Ehrlich. Bildhaft. Und unglaublich menschlich.

was ich alles geschluckt habe

In the shadows of Apache Junction, at the foot of the majestic Superstition Mountains, sits a weathered hacienda. This desert oasis is home to an enigmatic figure, a songwriter whose journey reads like a long, dusty road of honky-tonk bars and college cafeterias. He wasn't chasing fame or glitter; instead, he chose the soul-crushing beauty of music for music's sake.

Years spent hunched over sticky barroom tables and scribbling lyrics on napkins earned him a reputation—not in the spotlight but in the back rooms where deals are made. He wrote melodies that found their way into the hearts of stars who had lost their own muse. He sold his creations for cash, with no recognition, but the whisper of his songs carried the weight of his soul.

Finally, he bought this piece of desert paradise—a stable income from his timeless songs allowed him to live comfortably, if anonymously. Here in this hacienda, with his family beside him and the mountains as his backdrop, he found the peace to write hits under his own name. He chuckled at the irony that now, without chasing fame, he could create music that brought him joy.

In the end, it was never about the spotlight. It was about the journey, the stories, and the songs that wrote themselves through his life. As the sun set behind the Superstitions, casting long shadows over the hacienda, he strummed his guitar and sang—content, unknown, and unburdened by the world's gaze.


Copyright 2019 Edwin H. Balder

I may be dead when fame comes but my real glory was always JULIE & The Kids. Thank you for such love

That’s Just Me Rusty Marshall Band

Edwin Balder