WAMPO

I wrote this song in 2020. 
Little did I know that the song would turn into reality so very quickly. 

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LYRICS:

What a time to be alive
Oily puddles toxic skies
Stirred up hatred, lies, no big surprise


Reflections can not 
Hide the facts
They've seen it all
In those windswept skies 
And those empty eyes

	
What a time to be alive
Oily puddles toxic skies
Lies and hate, well there's no big surprise

Cause all they've ever known is fight
And we lost it over night 
But we got our pride 
So that's quite alright


I thought I saw you down the street
On the pavement where we used to be

But you aren't hiding 
You are gone
How did we get to this
How did it come to this
What have we done


No one's laughing since the day
The day of broken dreams
The day we've broken everything

No one's seen the sun for days
It's just how we feared
When the world would disappear


No one's laughing since the day
The day of broken dreams
The day we've broken everything

No one's seen the sun for days
And it's how we feared
When the world would disappear
	

No one's laughing
No one's laughing now
No one's laughing
No one's laughing now

03 Toxic Heat

Late at night he sees her face,
A reminder of his sin,
Forever more,
He feels her scorn,
Writhe beneath the skin,
Down hollow halls,
He hears her calls,
The echos of her weeps,
Until this day,
He'll see her ghost,
Pull him from his sleep,

Can they start again,
or does it all just end,
Together till the end,
Until it starts again

Her Ghost

NOVA

U-Pained Balance

Sweeping All The Clutter Out (G. Di Nunno)

The dirt pile grows higher, so why must you add more?
Your face wears signs telling; the fight's hard through losing

The drama not worth it, repeating the pattern
Of toil and bruises, quite totaled with damage. 

All friends kept stunned guessing, what plans stay stored, hidden
A spring trap bite triggered--enjoy all this chaos.

Love the attention
Feel the power
Sneaking up
Quick attack
Can't resist
Stunned and lost
As you grin and walk on by.

Here is the broom to sweep all the clutter out
One chance to clean the rotten reputation that you have.

(A trip to 3/4)
And all trust has withered
Your family hides out
So where are you heading?
No one wants you around.

(Back to 4/4)
To wash off all trouble will take more than one storm
The meantime, such backlash when someone says your name.

The difficult task of repairing, undoing
Has worth in performance, and actions rebuilding.

What was sent out
Was returned
Wounds that stung
Healing slow
Grudges held
Stay awhile
Consequences thick, you know?

Here is the broom to sweep all the clutter out
One chance to clean the rotten reputation that you have.

All lyrics, music, and performance by Gino Di Nunno
Copyright 2025.

#6, Sweeping All The Clutter Out

Pour qui je compte     ( Translated following the French text )

Vidéo :   https://youtu.be/9njE-7si0d0
Texte :           Muette
Chant lead : Philippe J
Choeurs :      Liora 

Il y a des carnets
Et des mots égarés
Tout au fond des tiroirs
Et qu'on n'relit jamais
Parce qu'on est en retard
Et qu'y a toujours quelqu'un
Dont il faut prendre soin
Et ce quelqu'un, c'est jamais soi.

Dans la frileuse Flandre,
Sous les chênes et les hêtres,
Il y a ce tas de cendre
Après un feu de fête.
Au milieu, des canettes,
Des souv'nirs jetés là
Qu'on ramass' les yeux las
Pour les trier plus tard, peut-être.

Alors on compte sur ses doigts.
Un' seul' main suffit quand on s'dit :
Pour qui je compte vraiment ?

Les glacières dans le coffre,
La guitare dans sa housse,
On se serre un peu fort.
Un dernier regard pour
Les lits de mousse tassée,
Et les arbres muets
Mêm' quand l' bûch'ron les couche.
Et chacun r'part de son côté.

Alors on compte sur ses doigts.
Un' seul' main suffit quand on s'dit:
Pour qui je compte vraiment ?

Et puis quand la clairière,
S'éclaircit plus encore,
Qu'on sait par cœur le bois,
Ses pièges, ses réconforts,
Assis sur les souches
On se parle à soi-même
En dénombrant ses doigts.
On se demande : Qui m'aime ? Qui m'aime ?
Et une seule main suffit. 

For whom I count on

There are notebooks
And lost words
At the bottom of drawers
That we never reread
Because we're late
And there's always someone
We have to take care of
And that someone is never ourselves.

In chilly Flanders,
Under the oak and beech trees,
There is a pile of ashes
After a festive bonfire.
In the middle, cans,
Memories thrown away
That we pick up with weary eyes
To sort through later, perhaps.

So we count on our fingers.
One hand is enough when we ask ourselves:
Who do I really count on?

The coolers in the trunk,
The guitar in its case,
We hug a little tighter.
One last look at
The beds of packed moss,
And the silent trees
Even when the lumberjack cuts them down.
And everyone goes their separate ways.

So we count on our fingers.
One hand is enough when we say to ourselves:
Who do I really count on?

And then when the clearing
Grows even brighter,
When we know the woods by heart,
Its traps, its comforts,
Sitting on the stumps
We talk to ourselves
Counting our fingers.
We ask ourselves: Who loves me? Who loves me?
And one hand is enough.

NOVA

Ry2hot🕸️

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