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Stureplan

Stureplan (bass boosted)

Joddla med Siv - Kent Killer

Pipex - Har du ved på din balkong?

HEMSKT BEHÄNDIGT

FÖR MÅNGA

Il y aura des "je t'aime",
Gravés sur les bancs,
Des inconnus qui s’enlacent,
Des amoureux qui s'embrassent.

Il y aura des visages
Des photos épinglées,
Il y aura des gens partout,
Autour et entre nous.

Mais ça ne sera plus, non,
Ca n'sera plus jamais nous.

Nous...

Il y aura nos étoiles,
Sur ces corps endormis,
Il y aura des matins calmes,
Et des jours agités.

Il y aura des visages,
Il y aura nos images,
Et le monde qui s'agite,
partout autour de nous.

Mais ça n'sera plus, non,
Plus jamais toi et moi..
ça ne sera plus jamais nous

Nous...

Il y aura des regards,
Il y aura des sourires,
Des amoureux transis,

Mais ça n'sera plus nous, non,
plus jamais nous, non,
Plus jamais toi et moi

Nous c'était une fois
Nous c'était juste une fois


Maintenant ou jamais !!

Après Nous (Acoustic version)

“They said the blues were six feet under. We’re still dancin’ on the dirt.”

Six Feet Above the Blues is a 15-track resurrection of grit, ghosts, and grit-your-teeth redemption. Born from rusted strings, roadside sermons, and moonshine confessions, this debut album blends Southern Gothic storytelling with boot-stomping energy and the haunted soul of outlaw folk.

Through swamp fog and shotgun sermons, you’ll meet:

A hollow-eyed preacher who barters salvation in shadows

A hellhound more loyal than any man

A banjo cursed with blood

And a narrator who swears “God Don’t Ride Shotgun”

Whether it’s the eerie waltz of “Rattlesnake Waltz,” the foot-stomping fury of “Train Don’t Stop for Sinners,” or the rowdy last call in “Ashes in the Ale,” this record walks the line between sin and salvation — and leans hard toward the former.

Fueled by banjo, bowed bass, gang vocals, and enough smoke to choke a saint, this is music for the outlaws, the almost-gone, and the ones who never stayed buried.

🪕 Come raise a glass with the damned — you’re only six feet above the blues, after all.
credits


Bandcamp

Lantern in the Fog

For hours and hours now
I have showered and showered
trying to wash away my sins.
But as soon as one sin goes
another one shows up and jumps in.
It's not about splashing the cash-
dirty money won't change a thing.

Once my skin had a beautiful tan
but now I am a very pale white man
screwed by the midday news
that you can bathe and bathe away
but your sins will stay on your skin.
They will stay forever and a day.

I might grow blue with the cold,
sing the blues until I'm old,
buy myself a burial plot
in the field of the forgotten.
White cotton hair. Aching bones.
I have been rubbish at atonement.

*

(chorus)
Can you find it
.....in yourself to be kind.
Bring me a very large towel
and help me sit and unwind.
Let me howl like a hurt canine.

I've been the victim of sin
from when I was a baby child.
I was wild. I was disquieting.
I grew to kiss every known sin
on its Cupid chinny chin chin.
I let sin be the light in my life.
It brought me pleasure and strife.
It brought me immeasurable pain.

I'm going to
swiftly get back in that shower-
let it rain,
.....let it rain,
..........let it rain.
Please God let me back in.
Let me sneak back in
.....and I'll never speak of sin again.

Oh! Can you find it
.....in yourself to be kind.
Bring me a very large towel
and help me sit and unwind.
Let me howl like a hurt canine.

I've been the victim of sin
from when I was a baby child.
I was wild. I was disquieting.
I grew to kiss every known sin
on its Cupid chinny chin chin.
I let sin be the light in my life.
It brought me pleasure and strife.
It brought me immeasurable pain.

I'm going to 
swiftly get back in that shower-
let it rain,
.....let it rain,
..........let it rain.
Please God let me back in.
Let me sneak back in
.....and I'll never speak of sin again.

*

Please God let me back in.
Let me sneak back in
.....and I'll never speak of sin again.

Please God let me back in.
Let me sneak back in
.....and I'll never speak of sin again.

Please God let me back in.
Let me sneak back in
.....and I'll never speak of sin again.

Jägarland

Roger Bäck

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