Well, well, well....some honest to God straight rock instrumental stuff...  Keep doing it and keep it strong!

Guy what a wonderful solo!!!! you make blues enjoyable even for those who don't like it

Amazing guitar playing man 💪 you're a rock magician ⭐

As with all the songs in this album, the spoken voice snippets are public domain.

Glitch in the Dominatrix

Who Is

Work for peace

The strength... the power... the illusion... the magic...
Simply... ORK!DEA

ORK!DEA

The Isle of the Strong Door is the ancient mythical name for the island of Britain.

Lyrics and vocals by Annie Dieu-Le-Veut
© Copyright Annie Dieu-Le-Veut, May 2024

Music by Paul Foss
© Copyright Paul Foss, May 2024
Email: paul@paulfossmusic.com

Words: 

No man is an island ......a wise man once said. 
But an island is an island, that cannot be denied, 
Nor that those who live on islands evolve in different ways 
To their contemporaries in places like, say, Vladivostok or Monterey. 


Some call it “island syndrome”; it's not a painful condition. 
It’s just how we grew in our homeland, and not even of our own volition, 
On the Isle of the Strong Door, surrounded by a deep blue moat,
Our smallest became gigantic, while our giants became remote.


 “But you are no-one! You're so small!” go the voices beyond our walls, 
“You’ll never survive, let alone thrive, all alone as you are on the world stage.” 
Except we have done – ever since the last Ice Age.
And it may have passed them by, but haven’t they heard? 
Our language is the lingua franca of the world.  

Bran was the last giant of this Mighty Isle, or so it is told in our myths. 
On his death bed, he ordered that his head should be buried in the towering white Dover cliffs. 
Since then, it has guarded the wave-tossed straits, staring forbiddingly out from our shores, 
Rendering all invaders at checkmate, unless those inside open the Strong Door.

© Copyright Annie Dieu-Le-Veut, May 2024, all rights reserved

The Isle of the Strong Door

We Be Jammin Da Blues!

Tesselation

End My Life

Loser

I met a lady in the meads,
       Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
       And her eyes were wild.

She took me to her Elfin grot,
       And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
       With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,
       And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
The latest dream I ever dreamt
       On the cold hill side.

John Keats

We Be Jammin Da Blues!

GJK

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