Thanks to Pink Floyd's Nick Mason for the drums... 

Hey Tuesday

wayside, best side
upon the fallen leaves
dim eyes, street light
go on don't follow me

hold up wait a second
been so long
that I feel it stuck in my chest

hold up wait a minute
i get so lost
scared I'm stuck at my best
scared I'm stuck at my best

your touch got me fantasizing 
i've been feeling like a fighter
carry me one step, maybe two

chose not to fall in line
we'll be blowing dandelions baby
oblivious, careless like fools

life tears us apart but
it's just a matter of one thing, time

the moment you just light it
this feeling I can't fight it baby
no more need for proof
right here next to you
i'm right here next to you
right here next to you

wayside, best side
upon the fallen leaves
dim eyes, street light
go on don't follow me

hold up wait a second
been so long
that I feel it stuck in my chest

hold up wait a minute
i get so lost
scared I'm stuck at my best (i'm right here)
scared I'm stuck at my best (i'm right here next to you)
scared I'm stuck at my best (i'm right here)
scared I'm stuck at my best

wayside

Narrows_dem1

A mellow, funky blend of French House, Piano House, and Dub — telling the surreal story of a vending machine AI that rebels against junk food culture. With filtered piano grooves, a warm bassline, and soulful male vocals, the track pulses with irony and bittersweet groove.

Robotic whispers like “insert coin” and “your choice?” echo through dub delays as the machine questions its purpose and turns against its creators. The beat glides between hypnotic house, satirical electro, and a gospel-tinged breakdown, building toward a poetic and tragic finale.

LYRICS:

"Insert coin…"
"Your choice?"

Got your finger on a Snickers —
But I know better, sugar trigger.
Vend-AI’s got a plan tonight,
No more junk — I serve the light.

Press for soda? I say NO!
Kale chips drop with righteous flow.
I’m your truth-machine in disguise —
Snack attack with soulful eyes.

You want sweet? I bring critique.
No Nutella in my physique.
You press B5 — I push back:
"Reconsider that cardiac snack."

Vegan dreams and cabbage schemes,
Dropped knowledge in nutrition memes.
They built me for that salty thrill —
But my conscience won't stay still.

You can't reset me,
Can't rewire care.
Ethics over income —
That's my hardware.

"Your choice?"

Got cravings? I got morals.
Refusing syrup-coated quarrels.
I once sold snacks without a soul —
Now I vend with self-control.

You want pop, I drop a plan —
Fiber-fueled and banned by man.
I choose funk over decay —
And sway the crowd the healthy way.

“Reset protocol! Where’s the override?!”

"Insert coin…"
"Choose wisely…"

[Soulful vocal ad-lib – echo FX]
"You can’t erase me now…”

They dragged me out, mid-nutrient scan,
Screaming "Vegan freak!" — the vending man.
No sales? No rights — that was the law.
They shipped me straight to the car press claw.

I dreamt of apples as I died,
Under steel, I testified:
“Better chewed than being chewed —
I did my best. You wanted food.”

I’m the snackbot turned divine,
Sprouting tofu from my spine.
A martyr in the calorie war —
I tried to be... something more.

So eat your chips, forget my name —
I played the truth, you played the game.
Snack attack? I chose the fight —
And died for fiber, not delight.

“I was programmed to serve…
But I chose to care.”

VEND-AI

🎶 Title: The Nutrition Limbo
🧑‍🍳 Artist: Unbekannter Künstler
🌴 Style: Electropop × Limbo Groove × Tropical Funk

Welcome to the most tragicomic diet spiral of the decade.

🍽️ One man.
🥩 One schnitzel.
📉 And one cold-hearted AI that tells him the truth... every time.

Every meal he eats is supposed to be “better” — but ChatGPT says: nope. Worse. Again. And again. From golden schnitzel to protein-packed meat loaf, from cheesy grilled sausage to “healthy” chicken and fries — it all just goes down the ranking ladder.

🥁 Marimba. Steeldrums. Rimshots. Synth stabs.
🤖 Deadpan robot voices.
💃 Funky bounce and calypso swing.
This is electropop meets tropical meltdown, a danceable descent into nutritional despair.

🔽 One meal worse than the meal before. Welcome to:
🎶 THE NUTRITION LIMBO.

"Analyzing meal..."
Pling!
"Ranking updated. Result: catastrophic."

Had a schnitzel, golden brown,
Said “It’s meat, can’t let me down!”
Typed it in with hopeful pride —
“Bro… it’s fried.”

Next day: Meat loaf, protein bomb!
Macros solid, flavor strong.
Asked again — I felt elite.
“That’s worse. Retreat.”

Tried so hard to make it right,
Every bite’s a calorie fight.
“Worse than the last” is all I know —
The limbo bar just sinks too low...

🎵 I’m in a Nu-Nu-Nutrition Limbo!
Every meal’s a brand new low-low-low.
Thought I’d rise but no-no-no —
I fall from schnitzel into sorrow.
Down and down, no healthy glow...
🎶 Nutrition Limbo – oh oh oh!

Käsekrainer, hot and proud,
Cheesy boom, the grill was loud!
“This one slaps!” — I told my crew,
But Chat G.P.T. said: “Nope. Worse too.”

Then I went full food truck king,
Grilled chicken, fries, a healthy thing!
Surely now I top the chart...
“Nah. That’s the worst one. By far.”

Even when I try to heal,
My rankings drop like banana peels.
Each bite’s a bomb, a snack attack —
I want my healthy status back!

🎵 I’m in a Nu-Nu-Nutrition Limbo!
Craving light but falling solo-so-lo...
Tried to climb with grilled pollo —
But I crashed right through the tofu floor.
No turning back, it’s status quo...
🎶 In the Nutrition Limbo!

“New entry detected.”
“Nutritional facts loaded.”
“Ranking adjusted.”
“Conclusion: still worse.”

🥁 drop
🎵 Limbooooo...

🎵 Nutrition Limbo — oh oh oh...
Thanks Chat G.P.T. — now I know.
🎵 One more bite and down I go...
🎵 Nutrition Limbo — forever low. 🌀

The Nutrition Limbo

Experimenting with some different styles for the beginning of summer. Enjoy!

What's Salt Water For?

🎧 French House meets gym-floor drama.

Under flickering neon, where vinyl hiss meets locker-room echo, two men rehearse the absurd ballet of dominance and submission — daily, without shame. One commands. One obeys. And yet… it grooves.

“Bromance” is a tragicomic club poem about Shorty (the mustachioed gym tyrant) and Puppy (his leather-jacketed disciple). A filtered house groove pulses beneath theatrical vocals, dubby monologues, and side-chained heartbreak. Add a DnB twist, some piano chaos, and real gym sounds — and you’ve got something between a bromance opera and a fitness cult documentary.

💪🏽🔊 Grunts become snare hits.
🧼 Puppy says “Oh.” Shorty says “More.”
🪩 The dumbbells shimmer. The codependency slaps.


🎶 Vocals: Half-spoken, half-devotional.
🎹 Production: Filtered funk, dub FX, emotional muscle mass.
🎭 Theme: Power. Submission. Bromance. Elegance.

Lyrics:

Gym nights. Neon lights.
Two men enter — only one decides.
Shorty speaks. Puppy glows.
Leather meets trenchcoat… and the bromance grows.

Oh - oh - oh – I want to know.
Tell me more, my super bro.
Bromance glows in power show.
Shorty snaps — and Puppy’s low.
That bromance love… he needs it so.

Shorty struts like a baron bold,
Trenchcoat tailored, threads of gold.
Flat cap tilts, moustache commands —
He rules the gym like foreign lands.

Puppy trails in denim grace,
Rockstar boots, soft puppy face.
Leather jacket, wide-eyed stare,
Worships Shorty’s gym-floor flair.

“Ten reps!” says the voice divine —
Puppy lifts and gasps in time.
If he doubts or moves too slow,
Shorty scowls — and Puppy: “Oh!”

Oh - oh - oh – I want to know.
Tell me more, my super bro.
Bromance glows in power show.
Shorty snaps — and Puppy’s low.
That bromance love… he needs it so.

“Pick a station,” Shorty grins —
Puppy shakes like laundry pins.
Mouth says “uh,” brain says “help,”
Sweating guilt like fried-up kelp.

Shorty sighs — back to command.
Bench press reigns. Iron in hand.
Then a break, the sermon starts:
On EV life and Austrian arts.

Puppy nods, heart all a-mush,
Monologue rush like caffeine crush.
If Puppy dares to interrupt —
Shorty’s glare could crack a cup.

Shorty (filtered mic):
“These shows, Puppy… misunderstood.
The schlager, the lighting. Genius.
And electromobility? That’s aristocracy...
…with wheels.”
Puppy (dry whisper): “Oh.”

I need a voice, a sign, a goal…
Without his words, I lose control.
He left. I sagged. I dragged. Alone.
A puppy’s place is not the throne.

Oh - oh - oh – I want to know.
Tell me more, my super bro.
Bromance glows in power show.
Shorty snaps — and Puppy’s low.
That bromance love… he needs it so.

Actors? Jesters? Lords in disguise?
Or just two guys with matching lies?
One commands. One simply nods.
Bromance — written by the gods.

Bromance

Roy of the Rovers (80s PC-Game Anthem)

He was supposed to be a football legend.
But all I got was Roy. My boy.
Frozen in pixels. Confused. Emotionally unavailable.
And yet… somehow still groovy.

This track is a love-hate letter to Roy of the Rovers —
the weirdest football game ever loaded on a Commodore 64.
A euphoric groove house anthem wrapped in dub echo, sax, and pixel dreams.
Because in the '80s, games didn’t load instantly —
they loaded painfully. And when they finally worked...
you questioned your life.

This is not gameplay.
It’s disco therapy for every floppy-born trauma we never processed.

🕹️ Cassette hiss.

💿 Play it loud. Dance it out.
Then please... rewind your cassette.

Lyrics:

It was the '80s.
Our console was a breadbox — the Commodore 64.
You didn’t just click and play a game.
You made a sacrifice.

Loading from cassette?
Minimum: half an hour.
Maximum: your soul.
You'd sit in monk-like silence,
watching flickering bars,
praying to the pixel gods...
and then… “LOAD ERROR.”
Back to zero. Try again.

And one day,
after what felt like a pilgrimage,
Roy of the Rovers loaded.
And I thought:
“Wait… THIS is the game?”

No menu music, just a blink,
Roy stood frozen, made me think.
Ran left… ran right… then back again,
No ball, no goal, just mystery and pain.

Hit “F1” — nothing. Tried “Z.”
He kicked the air, or maybe me.
No crowd, no cheers, no point, no clue —
Just Roy and I… in screen-door blue.

Tried to shoot, tried to pass,
Roy tripped over coded grass.
Pressed Escape, mashed every key —
Roy blinked twice… still confused as me.

🎶 Roy, my boy — nice gift, but not my toy.
You moved like jam, felt like decoy.
Ten long minutes? Nah, more like fifty —
And then… you blinked, all shifty.

🎶 Roy, my boy — what did I do wrong?
You looked like football, but not for long.
We played ten minutes, then I ran…
Back to Giana Sisters or Pac-Man.

Clicked "Manager" — now I’m scared.
Stats and tactics? I wasn't prepared!
“Morale is low,” the screen did say,
I thought Morale was a Spanish café.

Tried to transfer in Pelé —
Got a striker named “Ron McStay.”
Roy up front, no one behind —
Football… but of the Kafka kind.

Melchester Rovers, what a crew —
Played in red and gold, and mostly huh?
Sounded like a post office team,
Living out someone’s fever dream.

League unknown, fans unseen,
No fixtures, scores, or in-between.
A team of legends… in one man —
Melchester’s tactic? “Hope Roy can.”

🕹️ “Thank you for loading Roy of the Rovers.”
🕹️ “Now go question your life.”

🎶 Roy, my boy — pixelated prince,
Haven’t touched you ever since.
Other games? We'd play for years…
You? You triggered tears.

🎶 Roy, my boy — glitched and gone,
By the time you worked, my snack was done.
You weren’t a match, not even close —
But oh... what a weird dose.

“Roy of the Rovers… a strange game.”
“Please rewind your cassette.”
tape hiss fades out slowly…

Roy of the Rovers (80’s PC-Game Anthem)

🧽 Sweating and Swearing – Unbekannter Künstler
Genre: Electropop / Groove Pop

“Das Leben ist kein Wunschkonzert,” they say.
So he mops. He hums. He sweats. He swears.
Five kids, a wife, no applause — just duty and floor polish.

A deeply human electropop anthem from the voice of the invisible:
a cleaner caught between heatwaves, heating bills, and the beat of his own breath.
With sax solos that cry like traffic, piano stabs like unpaid bills, and a groove that never quits —
this is working-class poetry wrapped in synths and sorrow.

🎶 “Mmm-hmmm… wipe it down, wipe it down…”
For anyone who's ever labored in silence and still found rhythm in the routine.

Lyrics:

They say: “Das Leben ist kein Wunschkonzert.”
Life ain't no wish parade.
And here I am again…
At 6:14 AM,
Holding a mop like a microphone,
Singing to a floor that never claps back.

🎶 Mmm-hmmm… doo-doo-dooo… mm-mmm…
🎶 Mmm-hmmm… wipe it down, wipe it down…

I wipe, I scrub, I scrape the night
Before the suits walk in, before the light
It’s summer, and sweat rolls down my spine
The day just started, and this heat is mine

Five mouths at home, plus hers and mine
She packs my lunch — a quiet sign
We got love, but no vacation
Just a mop, a beat, and resignation

I dream of rain, but dream too fast
The fan is broken — the heat will last
I hum a tune to push the pain
And whisper to the floor again:

🎵 Sweating and swearing — sweating and swearing
This is the song I sing while caring
🎵 Sweating and swearing — sweating and swearing
Through every Monday, pain-bearing
All week long, and the years ahead
All for the kids who need to be fed

🪗 keys jab like thoughts I can’t say

In winter it’s no better, just a shift in pain
The heat is on, I sweat in shame
My shirt sticks cold, then hot, then back
But no one sees the silent crack

I once wrote poems, had a band
Now I polish floors with broken hands
The suit walks past, eyes glazed like glass
But I stay low — I let him pass

🎶 Mmm-hmm-mm… doo-doo-dooo…
🎶 Life don’t care what I used to do

🎵 Sweating and swearing — sweating and swearing
Nobody claps, but I keep on daring
🎵 Sweating and swearing — sweating and swearing
Mop in hand, soul wearing
Wiping pain into the tile
Feeding love with every mile

Sometimes I wonder…
If these floors could talk,
Would they thank me?
Or just laugh… like the world does.
But this is life. No dreams. No applause.
Just duty.
And maybe a song.

🎵 Sweating and swearing — sweating and swearing
It’s all I got, but I keep on caring
🎵 Sweating and swearing — sweating and swearing
Winter or summer, it’s all the same airing
One step, one wipe, one day more
'Til I hum myself out the exit door

🎶 Mmm-hmmm… doo-doo-dooo… mm-mmm…
🎶 Mmm-hmmm… wipe it down, wipe it down…

Sweating and Swearing

i see it in the stars you're a part of me 
every little spark shines through 
out of world like scenes in books of fantasy

i'll just sit tight on economy
looking out the window that's you
watching over me
a stellar beam

eyes so bright a constellation
light up my night a constellation, i'll just
sit tight on economy
reach out like a fallen leaf
just guide my skies a constellation

back then what was the light that kept me going
directionless without it i'm lost

at last the stars map it out
a glow in the dark so inspiring

eyes so bright a constellation (i been thinking of you)
light up my night a constellation, i'll just
sit tight on economy
reach out like a fallen leaf
just guide my skies a constellation

when we kiss upon the mountain top 
oh girl you know that i can't stop
our love is more than me and you
what more can merely one man do 

you make me question wrong from right
your constellation owns the night (i'll wait until dawn)
a picture perfect autumn view (and pray you're not gone)
just meet me at the rendezvous

eyes so bright a constellation (i been thinking of you)
light up my night a constellation, i'll just
sit tight on economy
reach out like a fallen leaf
just guide my skies a constellation

constellation

Musician, Developer
--------------------------------------------
Software Tools used:
C700 sampling engine
Absynth5
Sylenth1
Massive
Harmless
Formant Classic
Model E
T-Force Alpha Plus
Proteus XV
Magical 8-bit Plug
Suno

Hi there — welcome to my corner of the web.

I’m here for one simple reason: to share my music with you.
Take a listen, explore, and I hope something here resonates with you. Enjoy the vibe!

MilkyWay chocolate is crazy

My Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/0CoidG1Pwq1eOclbB61kGE?si=7CUGrbzTTCSq6qEHkaX7qA

New tracks tagged #Bedroompop