sounds deep and thoughtful great composition

https://youtu.be/4a8wFJ6b4d8 

Translation above.

Chanson écrite dans le cadre des ateliers d'écriture de Claude Lemesle. Thème : écrit sur une feuille d'automne.

Ces cris

L’été s’essoufflait
À tomber dans les pommes
Devant ce vent d’automne
Qui glaçait
Oh ! ces cris, ces cris…

Le vent dénudait
Les branches d’un platane
Quand les feuilles se fanent
À regret
Et ces cris, ces cris…

Sur le sol tremblait
L’âme de l’une d’elle
Qui, pourtant encor’ belle
M’appelait
Encore ces cris…

Je m’agenouillai
La posai sur ma paume
Ainsi que sur un trône
Bien douillet
Toujours ces cris…

Ses nervur’s traçaient
Des lign’s de vie diaphanes
Qui, sans appel, condamnent
Un portrait
Mais ces cris, ces cris ?

Lucide, ell’ criait
C’était des cris d’automne
Craquants, qui se dérobent
À jamais
Plus de cris, de cris…

Mais elle laissait
Écrit en filigrane
Dans ma main qui se fane
Son portrait

Myckaël Marcovic, le 15 octobre 2021

Song written during Claude Lemesle's writing workshops. Theme: written on an autumn leaf.

These cries

The summer was running out of steam
To fall in the apples
In front of this autumn wind
Which froze
Oh! these cries, these cries...

The wind was stripping
The branches of a plane tree
When the leaves fade
With regret
And these cries, these cries...

On the ground trembled
The soul of one of her
Who, yet still beautiful
Called me
Still those cries...

I knelt down
Put her in my palm
As if on a throne
Nice and cozy
Still those cries...

Her veins traced
Diaphanous lines of life
Which, without appeal, condemn
The portrait
But these cries, these cries?

Lucid, she shouted
They were cries of autumn
Cracking, which are evading
For ever
No more cries, cries...

But she left
Written in watermark
In my fading hand
Her portrait

Myckaël Marcovic, October 15, 2021

Ces cris

Available Everywhere: https://music.apple.com/us/album/distorted-visions-deluxe/1623146177 

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/1gpDVstZ2ewGQiPTE3XKEV?si=vY0aLs_gQ46YufXYhYI9Uw&nd=1

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Regrets

Pas besoin d'une longue description. C'est tout simplement génial de rencontrer ton Alter Ego. No need for a long description. It's just great to meet your Alter Ego.

Alter Ego

A circle song for the break-up, make-up, break-up loop. Acoustic guitar based. Kissing tears leads to a salty embrace … which always ends in tears. Full lyrics below. Get in touch if you are interested in licensing any lyrics:

You hold my hand I stroke your hair
You hold my hand I stroke your hair
The sun rays play with dust in the air
You hold my hand I stroke your hair

We sit on my bed in the pale afternoon
We sit on my bed in my bedroom
I know you’ll be leaving me, leaving me soon
I know you’ll be leaving me, leaving me soon

You kiss the tears as they roll down my face
Kissing tears turns into salty embrace
Salty embrace always ends in tears
Tears just lead to kisses on the face

I touch your back as you turn away
I help you pack and ask you to stay
You won’t be back and won’t be swayed
I watch your back as you walk away

All old promises of youth
All hold faith with the truth
All told honest and naive
All so you wouldn’t leave

You kiss the tears as they roll down my face
Kissing tears turns into salty embrace
Salty embrace always ends in tears
Tears just lead to kisses on the face

Kissing Tears

Where's the time that you had on your side?
Where's a bottle to drink when you need it?
Where's a father to set you to task?
Where's a mother, who's there with a pass?

There's a field full of flowers and grass.
(full of ants and that)
Let's just say that it's somewhere in England.
(There's a maypole and all)
Maybe warmth from the sun of the day.
(no one's freezing and...)
Radiates from the Earth as if dreaming.
(no one cares about)
There's a crow watching you from a fence.
(he just watches and...)
No way for you to guess what he's thinking.
(while he's squawking away)
You, yourself, are just there, sitting around.
(lazy, dazing about)
Devoted to, just The Crow, just the thinking.

Let's insert in this scene, somewhat obviously seen.
An extraneous mass, which requires; a task.
Hey, ho, away we go!

There's a field framed with oak trees and beach.
Let's face facts that it's somewhere in England.
And the hum of the birds and the bees.
Fills you up in the still of the evening.
Oh, the tumbling cascading downs.
Are a never-ending dream of England.
That's it, boy, take a good look round.
(it's the last chance you'll get)
While the crows just sit watching and waiting.

Yet, insert in this scene international schemes.
Which the men undertake, for generals on the make.
Like a madman; half baked.
Stepping stones on a lake.
Oh no, down we go.

There's an old station there in the town.
(it's like Beamish. it's...)
Full of old iron keys and such sundries.
(very English and quiet)
And the wood there is aged and careworn.
(decorated and...)
And the empire remains in the features. 
(exonerated and...)
There's a comfort in old-fashioned things.
(it's like Beamish. it's...)
Reminding us that we're deeply rooted.
(very English and quiet)
To a time and a place and scene.
(a time and a place and a scene)
But a murder of crows could remove it. 
(a time and a place and a scene)

Let's insert in this scene, somewhat obliquely seen.
An external great mass, which requires a task.
Which you must undertake,
with forbearance and haste.
Oh no, down we go. 

Haul the sails, and set the course,
we're sailing out to sea.
Those in the midship, chart the course,
the route that's planned for we.
Set the tiller.
Haul the sail.
Chart the course.
Or else...
we'll fail.

Oh no! to the crows we go!
Oh no! to the crows we go!
Oh no! to the crows we go!

Where's the time that you had on your side?
Where's the time that you wasted on dreaming?
Where's the friends that you need by your side?
Passing by just along for a ride. 

Oh, these were your days.
Oh, this could be the making of you.
Oh, no need for delay.
The whole nation expects such great things for you.

Oh, these were your days.
Oh, this should be the making of you.
Oh, no need for dismay.
The whole nation expects such great things of you.
For England.

Where's your God? Can he keep you alive?
Where's your God? what? is anyone winning?
When your God is a dream for the spring.
Where's he now? amongst most other things?

Where's your God now your lain on the grass?
Where's your God while you lay out here dying?
Where's your God now that nobody knows?
That you're lying in a field full of crows. 

Oh, those were the days,
Oh, they're really a testament to you.
Oh, surrounded by crows,
Crows are suddenly circling you.
For England!



Regrets

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