I lost myself.

كل دا كان ليه!!!

غيابك مُر يا قَصَب السُكّر
 أنا ضعيف من غيرِك ... أنا بقوي بيكِ

أنتِ مينفعش تكوني فترة وعدت

ماتبقى من الماضي ومني ، هذا لم يُقال في وقته هذا ما شعرت به وسكت.

3:33

LOST

دينا الوديدي / مسار اجباري / كايروكي / مدحت صالح / كانت هتفرق في الوداع / مسلم / مبهربش / معاذ بكري / سافر حبيبي / على باب السيما / ليه سبتني / تامر عاشور / قولوله سماح / الوقعه الاخيره حمزه نمره / واحة الغروب /

مَزِيجٌ لَا دَاعِي لِلْبُكَاءِ

مزيج - ولقد أسرفنا بالكتمان حتي نسينا كيف نبوح

و كأنه حضن وداع اخير ...

كأني مَعرفش مين انتَ؟

On the Porch isn’t just a record, it’s a conversation. It’s the sound of old souls and weathered hands, of stories told long after midnight under a sky full of stars. It’s music played on borrowed instruments, with creaking floorboards for percussion and a rusted steel guitar crying in the background. It’s imperfect on purpose, because so is life.

This album is about the roads that shaped us, the ones we chose and the ones that chose us. It’s about scars that never quite fade and memories that refuse to leave. It’s about love that breaks us and saves us, wars fought far from home and battles fought deep within, about grief we carry and grace we try to find along the way.

This isn’t a polished studio album meant for neon lights and perfect mixes. It’s the sound of boots on a wooden porch, of a low, raspy voice telling the truth because there’s no reason to lie anymore. It’s a celebration of the beauty in imperfection and a reminder that some of life’s greatest songs are the ones played simply, honestly, and without apology.

So pull up a chair. Pour something strong. And sit with us a while because every note, every word, and every story here was meant to be shared on the porch.

كل دا كان ليه!!!

RANA

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