I finally bought a new classical guitar :)

The tightrope walker

prada

Deam on (cover / Aerosmith)

[Verse]
Silent roads we tread
In this quiet town
Whispers rise then softly drown
Fallen leaves on stone
We trace shadows here
We trace shadows here

Stars fade, they guide
Paths we used to roam
(We trace shadows here)
Still echoes (trace shadows here)
from our soft unknowns
Time forgets us slow
We are stories told
We are stories told

[Chorus]
(Yet) we hold on
In this fragile night
There's still a spark inside
Still a spark inside

[Bridge]
Tiny spark in endless time, 
awake and come alive,
Through the chaos, stars align, 
you're meant to rise and shine.

[Verse]
Awake in shadows' gentle sway
We walk these roads, fade into gray
Yet still a note, so faint, survives
In the emptiness, hope revives

[Chorus]
(Yet) we hold on
In this fragile night
There's still a spark inside
Still a spark inside

[Outro]
Time may drift and seasons fade, 
but one truth still survives,
The moments shared with you 
were the best of all my life.

Still A Spark Inside [Edit]

when you happen to 'move space', it all falls in to place!

Moving Space

Letra: Rafael Moraira
Música, orquestación y producción: Rafael Serrano

English
11th century. Ishbiliya. The Seville of taifas, the "flat city", also poetically called Alquivira (The Great).
Legend has it that the Poet King Almotamid or Almutamid, trying to spin some verses on the banks of the Rio Grande (Guad-al-Quivir) could not find the foot of one of them:
"The breeze turns the river into a chainmail coat..."
When, faced with his poetic blockage, a female voice behind him, hidden in the vegetation of the river, concluded:
"There is no better chainmail than the one frozen by the river."
It was the slave Itimad, called Romaiquiya, who would become his beloved Queen in an idyllic taifa. Until the invasion of the Almoravids banished him forever to Ahmad, near Morocco, where, faithful and in love, Itimad followed her until her last days.
You can visit her splendid Mausoleum there. And perhaps you will hear those verses that today are... nothing.
Like almost everything that was that Great City.

Español
Siglo XI. Ishbiliya. La Sevilla de taifas, la "ciudad llana", también llamada poéticamente Alquivira (La Grande).
Cuenta le leyenda que el Rey Poeta Almotamid o Almutamid, tratando de hilar unos versos a orillas del Río Grande (Guad-al-Quivir) no encontraba el pie a uno de ellos:
“La brisa convierte al río en una cota de malla…” 
Cuando, ante su bloqueo poetico, una voz femenina a sus espaldas, oculta en la vegetación del río, concluyó:
“Mejor cota no se halla como la congele el río.”
Era la esclava Itimad, llamada la Romaiquiya, que llegaría a ser su amada Reina en una taifa idílica. Hasta que la invasión de los almorávides lo desterró para siempre a Ahmad, cerca de Marruecos, a donde, fiel y enamorada, la siguió hasta sus últimos días Itimad.
Podéis visitar allí su espléndido Mausoleo. Y quizás oigáis esos versos que hoy son... nada.
Como casi todo lo que fue aquella Gran Ciudad.


LETRA:

Ay, Alquivira!.
El viento hacía del agua,
ay, Alquivira,
rizos de nácar.
Almotamid divagaba:
"Yo te quisiera hilvanar 
 en una cota de malla,
 y el río no se deja hilar".
Ay, Alquivira!.
Si el relente te helara...
Ay, Alquivira!.
Ay, mi Alquivira!.
Oyó una voz a su espalda:
"Cómo lo quieres helar
 si la calor de Sevilla 
 son los ojos de Itimad?".

Ay, Alquivira!.
Qué nos queda ya?.
Ni casi río ni rey
ni el sol de Romaiquiya...

Ay, Alquivira!
El tiempo hace del agua,
ay, Alquivira,
rizos de nada.
Almotamid cada mayo
de las prisiones de Ahmad
va a Alquivira de la mano
del fantasma de Itimad.
Oye una voz la Giralda:
"Cómo te quieres helar
 si la calor de Sevilla 
 son los ojos de Itimad?".

¡Ay! Alquivira

if you are going to use this
song just make sure to follow me on sc and YouTube leave a like comment and give me credit where it is used and if by chance it is a success I want the corresponding royalties

follow me on youtube
www.youtube.com/@Nashgull_MdQ6474

Tango Remix

La canchera Tango lirycs Remix (by Nashgull_MDQ)

song about a  past neighborhood  tragedy....happens everywhere , all the time I figure... sad things.. bad things..

Lost Horizon

Solo standing street light shine                                     Your hands reaching out to mine
Floating up through the evening skies
Just like hail and gentle rain
Love is soft, but love is pain
and hard to find under our thin disguise

Cause now that you’re gone                                         
It’s a matter of fact
My lost horizon is fading to black
Got a weapon of war
In my neighborhood 
Cops at the door 
they know I’m no good

Welcome to this land of shit
Head is pounding, eyes are lit
Falling down to meet my gin-soaked master
Empty bottles line the floor
Brimstone shackles on the door
Once a child now a lonely bastard

Cause now that you’re gone
It’s a matter of fact
My lost horizon has faded to black
Got a weapon of war
In my neighborhood
Cops at the door 
I know I’m no good

Shots through the window     
The smoke starts to rise         
And I'm floating so far away   
The look in their eyes             
They can't  touch me              
There’s nothing to say            

Cause now that you’re gone
It’s a matter of fact
My lost horizon has faded to black
Got a weapon of war
In my neighborhood 
Cops at the door 
They know I’m no good
I know I’m no good




Lost Horizon

Hi everyone, hope you enjoy my latest Progressive House Mix!!🫶Please give feedback,good or bad🫶🫶

Friday’s progressive 🏠(recorded 21/02/2025) #progressivehouse

Moves along

coeurs Lena  :https://soundcloud.com/user-262019520

Naufragé

Note: In light of the recent AI breakthroughs, we feel it's important to clarify that we've been working with voice modulation since the mid-1990s – originally inspired by David Bowie's album Outside. Our approach predates AI-driven tools and is rooted in treating the voice as an instrument, shaped and sculpted through earlier technologies.

We fully understand that questioning authenticity may not be the intention – but it's worth remembering that all electronic music is, by nature, mediated and transformed. Even Nietzsche pointed out how modern tools shape us: inserting paper into a typewriter already creates a distance that handwriting does not. Perhaps birdsong is the only truly authentic sound. 🐦

Writes original song lyrics and takes custom lyric requests under the artist name La Wi. This platform is also home to the creative collaborations of the Psychonaut Collective (The Psychonauts). Thank you for your support and appreciation.