This album is a late-night walk through New York after the rain.
Warm streetlights, wet asphalt, distant trains, quiet movement.
Boom bap drums breathe slowly, lo-fi textures crackle like old film, tempos stay low and unhurried.
No rush, no aggression — just rhythm, memory, and space.

These tracks sound like the city when it finally exhales:
a figure in a yellow raincoat crossing the street,
steam rising from the subway,
a soaked newspaper pressed into the road.

Music for thinking, watching, drifting.
For headphones at night.
For moments when melancholy feels gentle — and familiar.

013 - Duke

Alcohol (Instrumental)

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eu.Reca - Alcohol (Instrumental)

1.
The fog has fallen through my body
There are so many lonely faces in this world.
Life is a big book of secrets
There are no boundaries for loving people.
Magic is doubt in the captivity of the soul
What should I do to stop time?
I don't want to lose the memory of your eyes.
Who forbids me to love you?

Chorus.
I can't wait for my time.
I did everything to keep her in my heart.
I regret a lot of things now, of course.
That the past cannot be brought back, even for a moment.

2.
Leave to come back to finish the novel
It doesn't matter how many pages it has.
Unrequited love leaves many wounds.
I can't take wings from painted birds.

Chorus.
I can't wait for my time.
I did everything to keep her in my heart.
I regret a lot of things now, of course.
That the past cannot be brought back, even for a moment.

solo

3.
The fog has fallen through my body
There are so many lonely faces in this world.
Life is a big book of secrets
There are no boundaries for loving people.
Magic is doubt in the captivity of the soul
What should I do to stop time?
I don't want to lose the memory of your eyes.
Who forbids me to love you?

Chorus.
I can't wait for my time.
I did everything to keep her in my heart.
I regret a lot of things now, of course.
That the past cannot be brought back, even for a moment.

Chorus.
I can't wait for my time.
I did everything to keep her in my heart.
I regret a lot of things now, of course.
That the past cannot be brought back, even for a moment.

Summer's End

n̲a̲s̲

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