30 Songs, done and dusted

Tell Me Why

The dust don’t lie

Three Blocks Down

Vancouver Crossing

Broken pieces

Some moments never fade.

Still Smells Like June is a memory in denim and sunlight — a song about old ticket stubs, borrowed spoons, and the kind of summer you still carry in your clothes.

Turn it up, close your eyes, and smell the season again.

Manche Momente verblassen nie.

Still Smells Like June ist eine Erinnerung in Jeans und Sonnenlicht – ein Song über alte Kinokarten, geliehene Löffel und einen Sommer, der immer noch in deiner Jacke steckt.

Laut aufdrehen, Augen schließen – und der Juni ist wieder da.

Still Smells Like June

Back then, somewhere – it’s still echoing.

A song like a sunset memory on two wheels. “Back Then Somewhere” looks back at a time of scraped knees, first kisses, and busted speakers. A coming-of-age soundtrack full of warmth and loss, full of what-ifs and wide-eyed wonder. Somewhere between heartland vibes and highway nostalgia – this is for anyone who’s ever missed a moment that made them who they are.

Damals, irgendwo – und es hallt noch immer nach.

Ein Song wie eine Sommererinnerung auf zwei Rädern. „Back Then Somewhere“ blickt zurück auf eine Zeit voller Kratzer, erster Küsse und kaputter Lautsprecher. Eine Coming-of-Age-Hymne voller Wärme und Wehmut, voller Was-wäre-wenns und jugendlicher Sehnsucht. Irgendwo zwischen Heartland-Sound und Highway-Nostalgie – für alle, die wissen, dass manche Momente bleiben.

Back Then Somewhere

Late September Heart is a quiet story of almosts — the words not said, the looks held a second too long, the song left hanging in the air. Set against a backdrop of worn leather booths and late-night jukebox hum, this track leans into a slow-burning country-blues feel. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t raise its voice, but lingers like smoke — steady, honest, and full of the things we don’t say. For nights when something stirs, even in silence. For what almost was.

Late September Heart erzählt leise von allem, was fast passiert wäre – Worte, die in der Kehle stecken bleiben, Blicke, die zu lange halten, ein Song, der in der Luft hängen bleibt. Der Sound: rau und warm, wie eine Jukebox in einem Diner kurz vor Feierabend. Country-Blues in seiner stillsten Form – ehrlich, zurückgenommen, und voller unausgesprochener Dinge. Für Nächte, in denen etwas bleibt. Auch wenn nichts geschieht.

Late September Heart

Nothing but Stories is the debut release by Sadie Quinn – a voice made of dust, distance, and memory. Blending Americana, folk, and quiet poetry, this track traces the moments we leave behind and the stories we carry with us.

With lines that feel like open roads and melodies like old letters, Sadie Quinn reminds us that fame fades, but feelings don’t.
This is a song for late-night listeners, back-porch dreamers, and anyone who ever wondered what remains when everything else is gone.

“In the end, we’re nothing but stories.”


Nothing but Stories ist die erste Veröffentlichung von Sadie Quinn – einer Stimme aus Staub, Weite und Erinnerung. Zwischen Americana, Folk und flüsternder Poesie erzählt der Song von den Momenten, die vergehen, und den Geschichten, die bleiben.

Mit Zeilen wie Landstraßen und Melodien wie alte Briefe erinnert Sadie Quinn daran, dass Ruhm vergeht – Gefühle aber nicht.
Ein Lied für Nachtschwärmer, Veranda-Träumer und alle, die sich fragen, was bleibt, wenn alles andere verschwunden ist.

„Am Ende sind wir nichts als Geschichten.“

Nothing but Stories

No One Tells You When It Starts is about the kind of change that doesn’t make a sound. A street corner, a faded memory, a version of yourself that never quite arrived — this is a story told in fragments. It’s not about the big moments, but the quiet unraveling of what once felt permanent. Some things slip away without warning. And some words stay stuck inside, long after it’s too late to say them.



No One Tells You When It Starts erzählt von den Veränderungen, die still passieren. Eine Straßenecke, eine Erinnerung, eine Version von dir selbst, die nie ganz geworden ist – dieser Song spricht von Momenten, die niemand bemerkt, und doch alles verändern. Nicht das Große, sondern das leise Verschwinden steht im Mittelpunkt. Manches geht, bevor man es merkt. Und manches bleibt ungesagt, bis es zu spät ist.


No one tells you when it starts

Berlin is not a love song.
It’s a memory you can’t hold,
a spark that burned too fast,
a night that felt more real than most days.

This track captures the wild pulse of a moment —
when someone walks into your life like a storm
and leaves before the sky clears.

You were Berlin.
Not the city. The feeling.


Berlin ist kein Lovesong.
Es ist eine Erinnerung, die man nicht festhalten kann,
ein Funke, der zu schnell verglüht,
eine Nacht, die echter war als viele Tage.

Dieser Track fängt den rohen Puls eines Moments ein –
wenn jemand wie ein Sturm ins Leben rauscht
und wieder verschwindet, bevor der Himmel aufreißt.

Du warst Berlin.
Nicht die Stadt. Das Gefühl.

Berlin

You said, “Don’t ask me where I’m from”
Lit a smoke and bit your thumb
Your laugh was sharp, your eyes were wired
A fuse that never once got tired

You moved like you were on parole
Stole my drink, then stole my soul
Said, “This night’s got teeth, don’t blink”
And vanished faster than I think

You were Berlin
Not the city, but the sin
Midnight cigarette grin
Chaos under my skin
You were Berlin
No beginning, no win
Just a storm I ran into
And hoped would never end

We broke a lock to climb a roof
Screamed the stars like it was proof
That some things shine when they’re about to fall
And some don’t need a name at all

Your boots kicked sparks, your voice cut air
You kissed like truth, but didn’t care
Said, “Nothing’s real that lasts too long”
Then vanished in a fading song

You were Berlin
Not the skyline, but the spin
A dare wrapped in a hymn
No mercy, only grin
You were Berlin
No reason, no skin
Just a heat that pulled me in
And left me high as sin

And if you vanish in the morning—
Then Berlin was real for a night

Berlin

Red Moon tells a quiet story of love that never needed many words. It’s about moments that stay—like a thumb tracing maps on skin, a candle in the dark, or a moon watching from the window. Some things fade. Others linger, quietly.

Red Moon erzählt leise von einer Liebe, die nie viele Worte brauchte. Es geht um Momente, die bleiben – eine Kerze im Dunkeln, ein Blick durchs Fenster, ein Mond, der alles gesehen hat. Manches vergeht. Manches bleibt ganz still.

Red Moon

“Out of Soda” is a quiet story of being left behind.
A missed meeting at a café. A name traced in spilled sugar. Neon lights flickering above a plastic table. Somewhere between a promise and an afterthought, someone waits — out of time, out of change, out of soda.


„Out of Soda“ erzählt still vom Zurückbleiben.
Ein verpasstes Treffen im Café. Ein Name, geschrieben in verschüttetem Zucker. Neonlicht über einem Plastiktisch. Irgendwo zwischen Versprechen und Vergessen wartet jemand – ohne Zeit, ohne Kleingeld, ohne Cola.

Out of Soda

Same Old Moon is a quiet, cinematic ballad about a moment that felt like forever — and still passed too quickly. With soft orchestral textures, intimate vocals, and poetic lyrics, the song captures the fragile magic of a fleeting connection. Two strangers, one night, the same old moon above — and a question that never got an answer. Sometimes, a glance says more than goodbye.


Same Old Moon ist eine leise, filmreife Ballade über einen Moment, der sich wie für immer anfühlte – und doch zu schnell verging. Zarte Orchesterklänge, eine intime Stimme und poetische Bilder erzählen von der Magie einer flüchtigen Begegnung. Zwei Fremde, eine Nacht, derselbe alte Mond – und eine Frage, die nie gestellt wurde. Manchmal sagt ein Blick mehr als ein Abschied.

Same Old Moon

“The Cold Don’t Lie” is a dust-covered journey through backroads, motel rooms, and quiet regrets. With razor-sharp lines like “Steerin’ by feel, not direction” and “The cold don’t lie like the heat you gave,” this song captures the raw honesty of running from a past that still burns. It’s not a love song—it’s what comes after. A soundtrack for anyone who’s ever driven just to forget.

„The Cold Don’t Lie“ ist ein staubiger Trip durch Hinterland, Motels und unausgesprochene Abschiede. Mit Zeilen wie „Steerin’ by feel, not direction“ und „The cold don’t lie like the heat you gave“ erzählt der Song von der Klarheit nach dem Sturm – wenn man weiterzieht, nicht aus Freiheit, sondern weil es keine Wahrheit mehr gibt, die bleibt. Kein Liebeslied – sondern das, was danach kommt.

The Cold Don't Lie

“I Write You A Song” turns late-night city chaos into sharp, streetwise storytelling. Every line paints the flicker of neon, the slam of rain on glass, and the calm of a pen moving steady while the world spins fast. It’s a personal message written in the middle of the noise – direct, unpolished, and meant for one pair of ears.

„I Write You A Song“ verwandelt das nächtliche Chaos der Stadt in scharfkantiges, selbstbewusstes Storytelling. Jede Zeile malt das Flackern von Neonlichtern, das Prasseln von Regen auf Glas und die Ruhe einer gleichmäßig geführten Feder, während draußen alles rotiert. Eine persönliche Botschaft, mitten im Lärm geschrieben – direkt, ungefiltert und nur für ein einziges Paar Ohren bestimmt.

I Write You A Song

When the street’s all sirens, when the sky turns red
And TV’s shoutin’ like it lost its head
I find a corner where the light runs low
Let the noise fade out and the ink just flow

The world’s on fire, but my hands stay calm
Every spark outside just feeds this charm

I write you a song
When the walls feel thin and the night feels long
It’s not for the world, just meant for your ear
A small piece of forever that says you were here
I write you a song

When the clock hands stumble and the night drifts slow
And the rain taps glass like it wants to know
I keep a page with a coffee ring
Where the words crawl out and the truth takes wing

The storm blows harder, I stand right here
With the words I’ve kept for another year

I write you a song
When the walls feel thin and the night feels long
I’ll trade all the noise for a melody true
And I’ll sing every line ‘til it reaches you
I write you a song

It’s not a rescue, it’s not a plan
It’s just my way to take your hand
While the city spins and the lights all shake
We’ve got a world they can’t overtake

I write you a song
When the walls feel thin and the night feels long
I carve words in rhythm, I wrap them in rhyme
And I hope they’ll still matter in some other time
I write you a song

When the street’s all sirens and the sky turns red
I write you a song, and stay in my melody instead


I Write You A Song

“Ashes in the Wind” is a haunting journey through a collapsing world. With images of burning hillsides, broken branches, and clocks turning backwards, the song captures the feeling of an inevitable ending — not just for one person, but for all of us. It’s a hymn of loss, silence, and fire, where every step stirs the ashes of what once was. Both intimate and universal, the lyrics leave space for listeners to find their own reflection in the wreckage.

„Ashes in the Wind“ ist eine eindringliche Reise durch eine zerfallende Welt. Mit Bildern von brennenden Hängen, zerbrochenen Ästen und zurücklaufender Zeit fängt der Song das Gefühl eines unausweichlichen Endes ein – nicht nur für einen Einzelnen, sondern für uns alle. Es ist ein Lied von Verlust, Stille und Feuer, in dem jeder Schritt die Asche dessen aufwirbelt, was einmal war. Zugleich persönlich und universell, lassen die Lyrics Raum, dass jeder Hörer seine eigene Spiegelung in den Trümmern findet.

Ashes In The Wind

There’s a silence on the hillside
Like the world forgot to breathe
Broken branches tell the story
Of the fire underneath

I see shadows carving rivers
Through the skin of open land
Every mile the ground is shaking
Like it’s pulling at my hand

And the night keeps leaning closer
Like it knows where I have been

Ashes in the wind, they’re calling
Every step I take, they’re falling
No return, no place to hide
Ashes in the wind tonight

I hear whispers in the steel rails
Hear the iron start to bend
All the clocks are turning backwards
Every road just finds its end

And the night keeps leaning closer
Like it knows where I have been

Ashes in the wind, they’re calling
Every step I take, they’re falling
No return, no place to hide
Ashes in the wind tonight

If the sky decides to open
Let the flames become the rain
I’ll be walking through the wreckage
Till the earth forgets my name

Ashes in the wind still burning
Every step I take still turning
Into something I can’t fight
Ashes in the wind tonight
Ashes in the wind tonight


Ashes In The Wind

A poetic snapshot of the quiet after goodbye: Still Standing captures a night when everything pauses – except the mind. The lyrics trace the emptiness left behind, not with drama but with still, sharp observations. Between power lines, cigarette smoke, and unspoken conversations with memory, this song becomes a quiet anthem of survival – when the sky holds steady, but the heart just might break.

Eine poetische Momentaufnahme in der Stille nach dem Abschied: Still Standing erzählt von einer Nacht, in der alles zu stehen scheint – außer den Gedanken. Die Zeilen fangen die Leere nach dem Verlust ein, ohne in Pathos zu verfallen. Stattdessen wirken sie wie leise Beobachtungen, klar und eindringlich. Zwischen Stromleitungen, Zigarettenrauch und stummen Dialogen mit der Erinnerung entsteht ein Song über das Weiteratmen, obwohl das Herz kurz davor ist, aufzugeben.

Still Standing

I sat on the hood of my car, two towns from home
Watching the power lines hum like they knew what was wrong
The night was too quiet, even the crickets held back
Like the world hit pause
But my mind ran fast

I lit up a smoke I don’t usually touch
Felt the wind say nothing, and that was too much
Your name didn’t echo, but it weighed in the air
Like it never left
Like you were still there

No thunder
No warning
No sharp goodbye
Just the quiet that replaced your light
The sky won’t fall
But my heart just might

You said some things don’t break, they just bend out of shape
But even steel has a limit before it escapes
I replay our last words like a scratched vinyl line
Looking for new meaning
Where there’s only time

No thunder
No warning
No sharp goodbye
Just the hum of what we couldn’t fight
The sky won’t fall
But my heart just might

Some nights I think you were right to leave
Some nights I talk to the space you breathed
The bed is warm but never kind
And you still sleep inside my mind

Mmh Mmh Mmh Mmh Mmh
The sky won’t fall
No No No - I don‘t think so...
But my heart just might


Still Standing

BRO tells stories of failure, loss, and pressure – but never gives in.
„No Surrender“ is a song about rising again and again, even when no one expects it. Exams, heartbreak, broken deals – life throws punches, but the voice behind this song keeps dancing through the storm. Clear, honest, and quietly defiant.

BRO erzählt von Niederlagen, Abschieden und Druck – aber gibt nie auf.
„No Surrender“ ist ein Song über das Aufstehen, wenn keiner mehr damit rechnet. Versiebte Prüfungen, verlorene Liebe, geplatzte Pläne – das Leben haut rein, doch die Stimme in diesem Song tanzt weiter durch den Sturm. Klar, direkt und leise trotzig.

No surrender

I blew my chances on a test or two
Watched the grades slip, they thought I was through
But one red mark don’t write my name
I learned to lose and play the game
Here I am, still walking the line
Missed a few shots, but I’m doing fine

I’m not going down with the storm
Still dancing, no surrender
Through the night until the dawn
I rise up and I remember
Still dancing, no surrender

She closed the door without a sound
The silence shook, it shook the ground
But heartbreak don’t define my way
I took the hit and faced the day
Now I’m still standing on my feet
Lost her love, but kept the beat

I’m not going down with the storm
Still dancing, no surrender
Turn the dark into a song
I’m alive, I remember
Still dancing, no surrender

Some deals went south, some plans went bust
The paper burned, the steel turned rust
But numbers never wrote my song
I keep on rolling, I stay strong
The ground can shake, but I won’t back down
Lost a fight, but I kept my ground

The radio crackled, wires half-dead
A voice came through the static and said…
Even broken mornings carry me
Still dancing, still free

I’m not going down with the storm
Still dancing, no surrender
I rise, I fight, I’m reborn
Still dancing, no surrender


No Surrender

“Chelsea Hotel” is a hauntingly poetic song that walks the line between dream and memory. Set in the legendary hotel, the narrator checks into Room 22 and is swept into a world of echoes—ghosts of lost songs, smoky laughter, and fading footsteps. With lyrical nods to Cohen and Janis, the song pays tribute to the creative spirits who once walked those halls. But at its heart, it’s a personal reflection on the thin veil between past and present, presence and absence. A timeless ballad for anyone who’s ever chased meaning through the corridors of art, longing, and city nights.

“Chelsea Hotel” ist ein poetischer Song voller Sehnsucht und Atmosphäre – eine Reise zwischen Traum und Erinnerung. Im legendären Hotel bezieht der Erzähler Zimmer 22 und begegnet dort den Geistern der Vergangenheit: verlorene Lieder, rauchige Lacher, verblassende Schritte. Mit Anspielungen auf Cohen und Janis wird den großen Künstlern der Vergangenheit ein stiller Gruß gesendet. Doch im Kern ist es ein ganz persönliches Lied über das, was bleibt, wenn alles andere verschwindet – ein zeitloses Stück über Kunst, Verlust und das Flimmern nächtlicher Großstadtträume.

Chelsea Hotel

Checked in with a suitcase, the key felt like a clue
Hallways breathing stories the paint couldn’t subdue
I heard a whisper rising through the thin blue wall
It sounded like a hymn, it sounded like a call

Downstairs in the lobby, the night was wide awake
Shadows drinking whiskey, talking art and fate
Janis laughed like thunder somewhere on the floor
I followed her echo, but never found a door

In Room 22, the past came flooding in
Every song I’d ever lost echoing again
I wanted to believe it, I wanted to be true
But in Room 22, I was just passing through

A poet’s breath of ashes curled around my bed
Dreams were stitched together by the words they left unsaid
I saw Cohen in the mirror, a song without refrain
He winked and disappeared into the falling rain

In Room 22, the walls began to sing
Every ghost I used to chase was whispering within
I wanted to believe it, I wanted to be true
But in Room 22, I was just passing through

The ceiling kept its secrets, the walls refused to speak
I followed fading footsteps, the ground beneath me weak

In Room 22, the night broke open wide
Every dream I thought had died was burning back to life
I wanted to believe it, I wanted to be true
But in Room 22, I was just passing through

Checked out with the sunrise, no one at the desk
The key lay like a relic, the city held its breath
And I walked into Manhattan, but something wasn’t true
Maybe I’m still sleeping in Room 22
