Kudos Conny, this is a very powerful remix now with Peter's verse providing a context for the almost hard-rock nature of the track, a very strong beginning for our new project.  And Peter's lyric poetry has the effect of a double entendre, the self-examination of a man's past and his sins projected onto all of mankind, but reaching out for a hopeful future in the end.  "Web" will be a magnificent follow up song.

Once again, this collaborative concept is extremely well designed. You all bring the little elements needed to create a great piece.... I won't forget Clara, of course, who is always the essential “cement” vocal in these musical adventures ....

A high honor again my friend to work with you and Peter.  I really love how this came and hope our audience does too:)

In short: for those of us born around the middle of the 20th century, the endless — and sometimes unbelievable — changes in the things around which we organize our lives can easily create confusion and make it hard to recognize the meaning of things (and of our own lives). Everyone has their own way of defending themselves from this kind of solitude. Great performance from all of you, but that’s nothing new. Question: is that David on electric guitar?

as always your talents come together to create a sonic piece of art...kudos on the e guitar parts ...well done my friends..always a pleasurable and thought-provoking listen.

Interpretación y arreglos : Jesús Flores.


Producción y Mazterizacion: Arturo Guevara G.
The Noise Infection Studio

100 Años

7am on a spring morning at Blessington Lakes in County Wicklow and all was still, suddenly i heard the most amazing sound that broke the silence, 2 amazing white swans flew out of the mist with such gracefulness and power it took my breath away, i wrote this song to try and capture the beauty and style of these amazing birds.
this is my fist ever instrumental . I hope you like it. 
Remaster of a song released in 2022

Life's about living

Life's about Living

Swans In Flight

Sparks (For two + guitars)

'slipshod decisions' with Harmful if Followed
https://www.instagram.com/reel/DHEv8ZOu-xP/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

harmful: lyrics, vocals, photo
scotty: front porch pickin'

Today I thought that I had something to say 
But then it went away
Cos I’ve done nothing today 
I need to make more mistakes
I think that’s what it takes 
Christ it aches and it aches
Feels far too real to be fake
Still signs of deliberate lines
More than words for words sake

And I swear that I sometimes make slipshod decisions

To help with the sad rhymes
That I’ve made my prison
I'm living in sin of my own making
Trying to catch the sound of my heart breaking 
Is it life or art that I’ve been faking ?
Think I missed the start but I don’t know when 
Pulled myself apart and back in again
Rather overarched for a simple man
Far too grand a plan

slipshod decisions (with Harmful if Followed)

Words and music written by Bartley Charles Mastin
Performance by Bartley Charles Mastin - All instruments and vocals.
Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved

Tuning: Double Drop B
Instruments: Acoustic guitar, Slide Guitar, Bass, Shaker, Tambourine, Earbud can, Harmonica, Triple Maracas, Cowbell.

Lyrics:
I am the man they call Sue Monday
I used to ride in Tennessee
They finally caught me on a Sunday
Now they gonna crucify me

I’m gonna be dancin’ 
On nothing at all

Caught me some red legs down in Georgia
Where they been burnin’ down the mills
They had our sisters in their saddles
And I got me four and twenty kills

Yeah they were dancin’ 
On nothing at all

And I made it right
Yeah I made it right
And I made it right right right right

She must be wonderin’ where I am now
She must be lookin’ for me
But I’m locked up in Louisville, Kentucky
And they are never gonna set me free free free

I’m gonna be dancin’ 
On nothing at all

And I made it right
Yeah I made it right
And I made it right right right right





Historical References:
https://www.counterpunch.org/2020/12/25/i-am-the-man-they-call-sue-mundy-civil-war-kentuckys-female-confederate-guerrilla/

https://www.womenhistoryblog.com/2014/05/exile-of-the-roswell-mill-women.html

Note: The phrase "dancin' on nothin'" is an archaic or idiomatic expression that means to be hanged or executed by hanging.

Red Legs - https://civilwaronthewesternborder.org/encyclopedia/red-legs

Youtube Podcast by Ron Coddington from Military Images Magazine:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrMToQTdAAw



Dancin' on Nothin'

Have you ever seen a shadow of something out of the corner of your eye?
But you can't really see it, touch it or describe what it is. It's just there, annoying.....but also a little scary..
Is it a guilty conscience? A badly disturbed soul. Your own inadequacy? Or your own or someone else's disappointment?......

Or is it all of these feelings and maybe a few more who appears and manifests itself as a ghost to you? A ghost of a sence........which always seems present......no matter what you do....there is always this echo.....and it is with some anguish that we let the difficult moments in our lives pass in our thoughts.........Hmmmm

Magic guitars left & right; David Dunham; @david-dunhamuser589535203
Superb Poetry/Lyrics, Narration; Peter the Poet; soundcloud.com/user-264930040/tracks
Music, mix & production, track image - Seagull: @farout-music-studio
Wonderful voice: Clara Sorace

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 - David, Peter & Seagull

Single Use And Recycled: songwriter, guitars
https://on.soundcloud.com/wbil6gw083u3vWAH5j

Rob: bass, lyrics/vocals

Sick, lonely, naked, a fool
Accumulated wealth means nothing
Can’t take it where I’m going
All the money won’t feed an empty soul

Sick, lonely, naked, a fool
Recall to mind the place and time
Given opportunity
Sit and wait for the perfect moment
Next thing it’s gone

Safe, happy, fine clothes so cool
Crack the outer shell
Center
Regrets, we’ve all got some
Navigate challenges that come

Accumulated wealth means nothing
All the money won’t feed an empty soul

Sick, Lonely, A Fool

Potato mash techno

VvV2

Just addendum to 'Covers from my heart' (for it took me way longer than expected to find halfway suitable English rhymes after translating my German text template)

The background: I spent my childhood at a time when books were the main sources for imagination and dreams. One of favorites: The Sea-Wolf. I was mostly fascinated by the flashbacks recounting the meeting of two kids (Hump and Frisco Kid) from completely different social classes, in which each of their respective worlds exerted a special attraction on the other. 

I felt the same way. I didn't come from a wealthy family, but a middle-class home and I found everything that didn't conform to middle-class rules magical. I sought out the “wicked,” and failed miserably to be accepted there. 

Much later I realized how massively privileged my life was compared to their dreary and hopeless environment marked by poverty and violence, which has not changed to this day. Quit the opposite. And although I support an association that cares for them, I feel that I am utterly unable to make any difference at all.

This song is an attempt to imagine something impossible to imagine unless you are affected by it yourself. I interpreted my German words with the help of DeepL and used various pages to find rhymes, synonyms and idioms. The musical template was a piece I wrote 20 years ago as an instrumental that I turned into a blue grass version.

According to the literal translation of my German words, the song should be called "Scumland," but I didn't like that title at all. Ultimately, I chose “wasteland” because “waste” has so many more relevant layers of meaning in the context of the song.

©music and lyrics by Hans-Michael Albers, vocals by suno 4.5+

I wake to the sound of a bottle smashin'
Mama's on the floor
Her dreams are crashin'
The sink's full of rust
The walls are peelin'
Dad’s fists talk louder than any feelin'
Broken bikes rustin' in the neighbor's yard
Kids playin' games
But the rules hit hard
Streetlights flicker like a dying hope
This town’s a noose
I’m the end of the rope
 
On the corner
Smoke hangs like a funeral veil
Dealers whisper stories
Every word’s a jail
Shadows move fast
But the clocks stay slow
This ain't a place where dreams ever grow
Siren songs scream in the midnight sky
You run or you fight
Or you just get by
The concrete jungle got no vines to climb
Just cracks in the ground
And they swallow time
 
Dirt on my hands
Dirt in my soul
The streets take a piece
And they never let go
Violence is a language
We all understand
See you in wasteland
Where all your hopes end
Get lost in wasteland
No chance to defent
‘cause this is wasteland, yoh

My boy Jamal got a scar like a map
Says it tells the story of a knife’s trap
He dreams of cars that purr like lions
But wakes to the sound of his mama cryin'
The gangs wear flags like it’s some parade
But the floats are coffins
The streets are their stage
Every breath feels like it’s borrowed time
Every rhyme’s a bullet
So I load my mind
 
The train tracks hum
But they never stop here
Even the rails know there’s nothin’ near
Dreams don’t board
They just stay in the dark
Like ghosts of a life that never found its spark
 
Dirt on my hands
Dirt in my soul
The streets take a piece
And they never let go
Violence is a language
We all understand
See you in wasteland
Where all your hopes end
Get lost in wasteland
No chance to defent
‘cause this is wasteland, yoh


Get lost in wasteland

Utnyttjar du mig. 631 ( 1983 ) Margareta Theorin ( Margareta )

Welcome to my world,  🌍
and a warm thank you to all of you who take your time to listen, comment and like my songs. It is much appreciated !! 😉 🙏🏽

And a huge thank you to all of you who have collaborated with me on many of the songs! 😀 ❤️

Videos are on my YouYube channel  📽

And by the way TERROR, THREAT & WAR NOT ACCEPTED!

Ghost of a sence - David, Peter & Seagull

FarOut Music Studio

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