Nice little piano fills here and there rob

Production. Is key to a great song and you smashed it!!  Keep it up!!

Paroles

Ouais c'est samedi soir 
On va sortir  de nos campagnes 
On irait bien au greasy spoon 
Sans qu'on nous dise cassez pas les couilles.
On a lavé nos bagnoles et nos pompes.
Cheveux ultra brillants et jeans serrés.
Que vouloir de plus.
Si vous ne voulez pas de nous on vous cassera la gueule sur le comptoir.
Ouais. ouais 

C'est toujours comme ça au greasy spoon 
C'est toujours comme ça 
C'est toujours comme ça au greasy spoon 
C'est toujours comme ça 

C'est toujours ouvert pour les pouilleux 
C'est toujours là où vont les craignos 
C'est toujours ouvert pour les teigneux 
C'est toujours là où vont les crados 
C'est le rendez-vous des raclos 
 Seul endroit où tu vois tes potos 
C'est toujours ouvert c'est comme un bistrot 
C'est toujours ouvert.
C'est toujours ouvert.
Ça se passe comme ça au greasy spoon
Ça se passe comme ça.
J'suis encore défoncé au greasy spoon 
Et c'est comme ça.

Greasy Spoon

Au greasy spoon

Au Greasy Spoon

Climbing up the ladder
Preparing for the slaughter
Diving Head first
Into a pool without water

Overworked
Inebriated 
Corporate Drunks
Liquidated

We're gonna drink all night!
Let’s go to work!

The day begins
The shake begins
The torture chamber has been set
Dutiful in your cubicle 
Just enough work to get that check
You’re nothing but a number
And no one knows your name
Your a random and replaceable
Part in a rich man’s game

And the day goes on and on
Eight hours last forever
When will you drink again
Answer of course is never
You never ever get to leave

You’ll work yourself 
You’ll drink yourself 
You will work and drink yourself To death

Time to take a break!

Another cup of coffee 
To get you back up on your feet
Make another dollar for 
A man you’ll never meet
The 9 to 5 the daily grind
Gets in your skin like a syringe 
Absent of light, you’ll be alright
When you swim into your binge

And the day goes on and on
Eight hours last forever
When will you drink again
Answer of course is never
You never ever get to leave

You’ll work yourself 
You’ll drink yourself 
You will work and drink yourself To death
Clock the fuck out!

Overworked
Inebriated 
Corporate Drunks
Liquidated

I just got another raise
So I buy another round
Got the company credit card
Let's burn this fucker to the ground

We're gonna drink all night
And then we'll get some food

Corporate Drunks

this is another guitar driven instrumental. it was recorded in May 2024 wth a Bc Rich Mockinbird and a Marshall MG100HDFX head.

https://soundcloud.com/earth-patriot/lucid-dreams

Dreams from Elmstreet 11

Lucid Dreams

Buy on Bandcamp

Classic Rock :

Empty streets and faded signs
Whisper tales of better times
Memories like autumn leaves
Scattered by a mournful breeze
I walk alone, my steps unsure
Through the mist of what we were

The ghosts of yesterday
Haunt every word we didn't say

We are the ghosts of yesterday
Shadows of what we used to be
Echoes of laughter, traces of tears
Fading like smoke through the years

In this twilight of regret
We're not ready to forget
The ghosts of yesterday
Still have so much left to say
Empty streets and faded signs

Whisper tales of better times
Memories like autumn leaves
Scattered by a mournful breeze
I walk alone, my steps unsure
Through the mist of what we were

The ghosts of yesterday
Haunt every word we didn't say

We are the ghosts of yesterday
Shadows of what we used to be
Echoes of laughter, traces of tears
Fading like smoke through the years
In this twilight of regret
We're not ready to forget
The ghosts of yesterday
Still have so much left to say

Old photographs in sepia tones
Remind me of the life we've known
Your smile frozen in time
When your hand was held in mine
Now I reach but grasp the air
Wishing you were still right there

The ghosts of yesterday
Linger in the price we pay

The ghosts of yesterday
Linger in the price we pay
Echoes of laughter, traces of tears
Fading like smoke through the years
In this twilight of regret
We're not ready to forget
The ghosts of yesterday
Still have so much left to say

As the sun sets on our past
We'll make these memories last
For the ghosts of yesterday
Guide us on our separate ways

Ghosts of Yesterday

I met the devils son

Drifting

The end of the year is alwasy a moment for reflection. It can be happy it can be sad, it's always part of our experiences. But thinking that another year is coming and more opportunities can be created is a wonderful sensation.

Until Next Time

https://ffm.to/be-cliche
https://youtube.com/shorts/-78otQbJF8M
https://www.tiktok.com/@beatingedge/video/7466246491661749536
🙌🏻Here we are with another unusual experiment, though given how often we switch genres, it’s hard to define what’s truly "unusual" in our alien and wacky perspective! 🤪
This time, we’re diving into Jazz! To all the purists out there - don’t take it personally! We know this track is, in some ways, light-years away from traditional Jazz, but that’s exactly why we call it unconventional!
So sit back, relax, and enjoy this musical absurdity - call it Jazz if you like, or whatever you want!  
Happy listening!😉
Released on major streaming platforms on February 1, 2025.
©2025 Beating Edge

Lyrics:

We've got honeyed notes and smoky bars
Tickling ivories and old guitars
A saxophone that wails with glee
The classic jazz in melody

Here comes the girl with a velvet voice
Singing heartache as her soulful choice
There's always rain on the windowpane
And metaphors about the pain

It's a jazz song, can't you hear
Every cliché crystal clear
From the moonlit nights to the lover's kiss
All wrapped up in this old-time bliss

Walking bass lines, tapping feet
City nights with scattered beat
There's a moaning trumpet in the air
Lost romance, a weary affair

Oh the clichés come alive
Scatting lines with no surprise
The same old rhymes and same old tune
Dancing under that blue moon.

Finger snaps, the smoky speakeasy feel
A midnight stroll, a lingering appeal
Love's always lost, but not so deep
It's all just jazz, we play to keep

It's a jazz song, can't you hear
Every cliché crystal clear
From the moonlit nights to the lover's kiss
All wrapped up in this old-time bliss

It's a jazz song, can't you hear
Every cliché crystal clear
From the moonlit nights to the lover's kiss
All wrapped up in this old-time bliss

Cliché

Snow Moon is the name of the full moon for February, and so this is the next track in our (as yet, unanamed) album that @APi_ZZ and I are making to honour each of the 12 moons of the year. We hope you enjoy it!

Words and vocals by Annie Dieu-Le-Veut
© Copyright Annie Dieu-Le-Veut, February 2025 

Music and cover art APi_ZZ
© Copyright APi_ZZ (Andreas Pirner) February 2025 

WORDS: 

Snow Moon came sailing in on a black anvil cloud
And gazed down at the red roofs in the hushed vale below.
The people were fatigued, that much she knew. 
They felt it had been a long time since Yule, 
The grey-skied days were taking their toll. 
She could hear them as they slumbered on.
Their dreams and prayers stole through her heart 
On their way up the silver stairway to the stars. 

She waved to Aquarius, the Water Bearer,
In no time, sparkling crystals filled his pails,
And he tipped them down towards the vale. 
White lace fractal flakes fell in silent veils, 
Each one complete in itself; unique in shape,
Swaying in murmurations, in soundless accord, 
Whispering into swansdown drifts and banks
And turning the valley into a winter wonderland. 

Snow Moon shone in pleasure at her twinkling boon
Until dawn, when the Sun rose to light the scene 
With an iridescent pink and coral sheen. 
Then two small boys pulled back their blinds, 
Rubbing the sleep from their eyes in delight 
And wonder that their whole world was now white. 
They ran downstairs: “Dad! It’s snow! It’s snow! 
“Do you think the schools will be closed?” 

Dad smiled at the memory of his first Snow Day. 
No trains could run; black ice covered the lanes
It was days before the snow ploughs got through. 
So he knew that there was only one thing to do. 
He went out to his shed, the boys jumping in tow, 
And he reached up to bring down an odd-looking gizmo, 
“What’s that, Dad?” his sons wanted to know,
“It’s a toboggan,” he replied with eyes alight. “Let’s go!”

Drifting

Rob Fletcher

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