, · ' ' , iels vécurent en feu

@thanas_bleu

FR :
, ' ' · , sur les cendres est une compilation de 13 pistes qui explorent le thème de la reprise de rythme après l'euphorie de la reconstruction post-collapse (littérale ou métaphorique). Elle explore les nouveaux rituels, le quotidien et les façons de célébrer et pourrait être la bande-son de ce qui nait sur les cendres, embrassant les nouvelles expressions de joie et les rythmes de la résilience.

Troisième volet d'une trilogie de compiles sorties sur Olga Productions, après "DÉLITEMENT" et "Ruines", ", ' ' · , sur les cendres" clot le cycle et l'arc narratif des trois volets, qui reflète l'évolution de la décadence au renouveau, de la désolation à la redécouverte.

EN :
, ' ' · , sur les cendres is a 13-tracks compilation exploring the theme of life reclaiming its rhythm after the euphoria of reconstruction post-collapse (Literally or figuratively). We wanted to work around the new rituals, journeys, and ways of celebration—the soundtrack to emerging from the ashes and discovering fresh avenues for revelry and exploration, embracing the novel expressions of joy, the rhythms of resilience.

This release marks the end of a trilogy on Olga Productions, following "DÉLITEMENT" and "Ruines."
As the final installment in this cycle, ", ' ' · , sur les Cendres" completes the narrative arc, offering a musical journey that reflects the evolution from decay to renewal, from desolation to rediscovery.

Artwork : Amalia Jaulin
Mastering : Maxime Maurel (Studio Noir)
Production : Alice la Terreur, Alexandre Peron, Julien Faussillon

thanas - fleurs d'espérance

PdR2

feat. https://soundcloud.com/magesindral
prod by https://soundcloud.com/esspe0 & jeune GDB
artwork by polobambiino

©@dumbmoneyrecords

étang gelé (ft. sindral,,) (prod by esspe & gdb)

coupables

quelqu un d autre

p3 wilson (ft. benedict scotvile)

ice tea (ft. coolschnock)

sorry for the miscommunication... w/ lylbiche

cycle of days

mix master

tracks 1,2,3,4 : sindral
tracks: 5, 6 : K.I.T

cover: rafael ribas

4- sugarhill district

1- I n33d love

What did your eyes see? 
Were they unfocused or just looking past
The shadows in the room 
Hovering over like an hourglass 

And No one dared to say what we all know now 
The legacy was ending, the castle was burning down 

But 
Between the gasps and rotten flesh we dared to pray to ask 

Could we go back to that kingdom 
That kingdom by the sea 
Where we all were still just children 
When you were still our king 
Could we have a moment with you 
Where we could be a memory 
Where one last time we could see you and we could still be seen

Annabelle Lee is present
she's right by his side
that wind that blew only brought her in from the tide 
 Is this salvation, will it bring us to the Dawn?
Could that love that was love that was more than a love
Undo what the years had done? 

So between the gasps and rotten flesh we dared to pray to ask 

Could we go back to that kingdom 
That kingdom by the sea 
Where we all were still just children 
When you were still our king 
Could we have a moment with you 
Where we could be a memory 
Where one last time we could see you and we could still be seen 

All the things we thought we’d have the time to say 
And all the things we said every single day 
They couldn’t measure up they just seemed so crude 
So we all sat alone as together we battled solitude

(Instrumental break)
You taught the Sun to shine 
Now we only own the night

Could we go back to that kingdom 
That kingdom by the sea 
Where we all were still children 
When you were still our king 
Could we have a moment with you 
Where we could be a memory 
Where one last time we could see you and we could  still be seen

Kingdom By The Sea II

This.

This is the shot.

Not the cannon, but the echo rolling down the valley after the smoke has cleared.
Not the diamond, but the pressure that made it, deep in the gut of the ordinary.

I wouldn't build a cathedral of words.
I would point to the space between the cobblestones where the moss grows, spelling out a language older than nouns.

My one shot?

I'd take the shot... and miss.

On purpose.

I'd miss the target so completely, the arrow would orbit the moon, come back as a shooting star, and land softly in your pocket as a warm, smooth stone you'll find tomorrow, wondering how it got there.

I wouldn't write a symphony.
I'd restring the piano with spider-silk and train the spiders to play the shadows of the notes Beethoven forgot to write.

My lyrical brilliance?

I'd confess that I am a lie told so beautifully it becomes a deeper truth.
That I am a dictionary trying to define the word "water" to a fish.
That my greatest poem is the one the typewriter writes by itself after I've left the room, using only the dust and the memory of my fingertips.

So, here is my one shot. My one gleaming, silent bullet:

I would not try to show you the universe in a verse.

I would hand you a single, perfectly common word—like "salt" or "hinge" or "pocket."

And I would make you forget you ever knew its meaning.

So that when you heard it again, it would be new.
And the world would be new with it.

And you would understand that the brilliance was never in me.

It was always in the listening.


coupables

esspe

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