To control the mind 
You must  
Capture the will 
The creation 
Of something 
It thrills. 
By moving 
Its attention 
Assuming 
a false sense 
of prevention 
to understand 
the plan 
is set  
in your hand. 
How the mind 
Becomes 
On demand. 
Not the false narrative 
Of a world’s command. 
This is critical 
For you to understand. 
To withstand 
What it takes 
To make 
You misunderstand. 
The laws that are 
firsthand. 
A consciousness 
That spanned 
Don’t let it be 
A victim of a state 
Unplanned 
Or unmanned. 
Settled on  
The right hand 
And the left hand 
Not reacting 
To the mad demands  
And empty commands. 
Tune your mind 
Don’t be blind. 
We hear our angels 
Whoa is me. 
My ability to see 
Not subjugation 
Of false laws 
And decrees 
To see past 
The slight of hand 
And its 
Cryptic demands. 
To understand 
The will is yours 
To direct. 
Treat it with respect 
Not necessarily 
Something 
You perfect 
But, the awareness 
Of the affect 
By the fact 
That all minds 
Are joined 
The happy 
Joyous 
And free 
Becomes 
My hallowed place 
That’s invited to see 
The resurrection 
Of a mind that’s free. 
In and of itself 
It’s the soul 
That’s being felt.

Whoa Is Me

Afterglow is a reflection on love’s aftermath—where passion once blazed, only clarity remains. This neo-soul/alt-R&B ballad traces the quiet transformation that follows emotional chaos: from longing to release, from hurt to healing. With vivid imagery and soulful lyricism, Afterglow lives in the space between what was and what’s left behind—a warm echo of truth, resilience, and quiet closure.

Afterglow

Verse 1
The fire’s gone, but not the flame,
It lingers soft inside my name.
We danced through sins and silent cries,
Now only truth beneath the skies.

Pre-Chorus
No more running, no disguise—
Just the afterglow in your eyes.

Chorus
Afterglow, we made it through,
Not untouched, but somehow true.
What we burned became our light,
A quiet blaze to end the night.

Verse 2
Your breath no longer haunts my chest,
But left a calm I call my rest.
And though the stars begin to fade,
I feel the peace that we have made.

Pre-Chorus (2)
I won’t forget, I won’t rewind,
But I’ve outgrown what kept me blind.
Chorus (repeat)
Afterglow, we made it through...

Bridge
No bitter end, no last regret,
Just warmth in places we once wept.

Outro
So let the morning slowly rise—
I’ll meet it whole, with open eyes.

Afterglow

(Verse 1)
In the dawn of time, when the void was spun,
Al'un devint deux—now the dance had begun.
A flash, a spark, from the quantum sea,
Hadrons took form in symmetry.

(Chorus)
Oh, collide now, neutron and positon bright,
Tangled in forces, splitting the light.
Algebra sings where the particles play,
One became two, and two slipped away...

(Verse 2)
The proton laughed with its quark-tied grace,
While mesons twirled through spacetime’s embrace.
Feynman’s diagrams, bold and precise,
Drew love in the margins of infinite dice.

(Chorus)
Oh, collide now, neutron and positon bright,
Tangled in forces, splitting the light.
Algebra sings where the particles play,
One became two, and two slipped away...

(Bridge – Whispered, like a theorem’s ghost)
"Group theory hums in the deep, dark core,
A Lie algebra knocks at the door...
The universe writes in a cryptic hand,
But Roland once swore— it all came from sand.**"

(Outro – Slow, fading)
So I’ll sing this tune to the void’s reply,
Of hadrons that live and particles that die.
If Al'un was One, then Two is the key...
But the math leaves a shadow— and the shadow is me.

The hadron's song

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

LYRICS

(Verse)
Shivers runnin' down my spine
Hearts cold in the summertime
When you told me it was over
Baby
You took me under

(Chorus)
If you want it
You got it
Don't need it
Then drop it
Just tell me
Do you really care?
And if you're not about it
Don't even start it
Baby
Just leave me nowhere

(Verse)
You call me like you're used to
To tell me you're in the mood
When you told me it was over
Baby
You took me under

(Chorus)
If you want it
You got it
Don't need it
Then drop it
Just tell me
Do you really care?
And if you're not about it
Don't even start it
Baby
Just leave me nowhere

(Bridge)
Leave me nowhere
Ooh-ooh
Mm
If you want it
You got it
Don't need it
Then drop it
Just tell me
Do you really care?

(Chorus)
If you want it
You got it
Don't need it
Then drop it
Just tell me
Do you really care?
And if you're not about it
Don't even start it
Baby
Just leave me nowhere
Leave me nowhere

Leave Me Nowhere

🎵 Wanna a better life for their children - (Official Lyric Video by Brady Kent) 🌸✨
 
The Right Rev. Mariann Budde (Episcopal Bishop of Washington) preached to the President of the United States. 

This song is loosely about her message and how it was received. This is a reflection of recent political events and the bravery shown by the bishop.

Some refer to her as a modern-day hero. At the very least it’s made us stop and think.

Which side of the political divide are you on ?💬 Have you ever been in a moment where words failed? 

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Wanna a better life for their children

„17“ – eine Sommererinnerung, die kleben bleibt.
Tom Berger erzählt in seinem Song von diesem einen Moment, in dem alles kippen kann – der Blick, das Lächeln, der Satz, den man doch noch sagt.
Eine Geschichte über junge Liebe, flirrende Hitze und den Mut, einfach loszulaufen – ohne Plan, ohne Gepäck, aber mit Herzklopfen.
Berlin im Hintergrund, die Zukunft vor der Brust – und siebzehn, für immer siebzehn.


“17” – a summer memory that sticks to your skin.
Tom Berger tells the story of that one moment when everything can shift – the glance, the smile, the words you finally say.
A song about young love, heat in the air, and the courage to just leave – no plan, no baggage, just a heartbeat and a girl.
Berlin in the background, the future in your chest – and seventeen, forever seventeen.

Siebzehn

Somebody else's song

A song about the folklore of a Red Breaked Chough (a bird) and its link to a smugglers curse in a story.

Siebzehn

BRO