Every Friday, I walk the same way...
To the chestnut tree at the end of the road.
It waits for me — and I, for it.

Heavy steps on silent stone,
Each one says, “You’re still alone.”
The world cheers Friday, starts to glow,
But I move slow, I move below.
The laughter lives behind closed doors,
But I keep walking, past the stores.
My thoughts are loud, the streets are dumb,
I’m not sure why—but still I come.

The gravel crunch, the faded sign,
An old restaurant, lost to time.
The chestnut waits—my weekly mark,
A sacred hush, a question's spark.

Friday, 11:00 a.m., at the chestnut tree –
A crow is cackling mockingly –
Eyes in the sky –
Wondering why –
No mood to cry –
But life feels dry –
Turning around –
Eyes to the ground –
Back where I came – alone.
Friday, at 11:00 a.m. I moan

Across the street, the houses breathe,
Behind their gardens, children weave.
But I just stand, I barely blink,
I ask the sky what it might think.
I speak in silence, soft and slow,
But answers never seem to show.
And still I come, and still I wait—
A heart half-open, half-resigned to fate.

It’s not about hope, it’s not about peace,
It’s where the noise and pressure cease.
A moment out of time, alone—
Where questions rise, then turn to stone.

Friday, 11:00 a.m., at the chestnut tree –
A crow is cackling mockingly –
Eyes in the sky –
Wondering why –
No mood to cry –
But life feels dry –
Turning around –
Eyes to the ground –
Back where I came – alone.
Friday, at 11:00 a.m. I moan

The same path, the same breath...
Still no answers... just the tree... and me.

Friday 11:00 am at the Chestnut Tree

One week ago, it burned so bright,
A heavy heart, a sleepless night,
One month ago, it screamed so loud,
Now it's just a face in the crowd.
I stand alone, no need to pray,
The tides, they steal the pain away.

Every tear, every name,
Loses weight in the endless game,
In the spiral of the sky,
Even the heaviest storms run dry.

And I stand and watch it fade away,
Fade away, fade away,
Let it sail into another day,
Fade away, fade away.

One year ago, it broke my chest,
Now it’s a joke, a ghost at best,
The ship is small, the sea is wide,
I wave goodbye to the other side.
No more anchor, no more chain,
Just the whisper of old pain.

Every shout, every cry,
Melts beneath a changing sky,
What once could tear my soul apart,
Now just flickers in the dark.

Ships hit the ocean...
I stand on the shore...
They get smaller... and smaller...
'Til they're nothing anymore.
Ghost ships in the endless blue,
I let them go... I let them lose...

And I stand and watch it fade away,
Fade away, fade away,
Let it sail into another day,
Fade away, fade away.

Fade Away (Deep House Version)


The blast of wind before the passing train —
A rhythm soft as summer rain.
A fleeting joy we can't explain —
That’s the jazz before the pain.

Woke up slow beneath a silver cloud,
Inbox shouting, traffic loud.
Outside the palms sway in slow cliché —
Like lovers do before they drift away.

Sippin’ on shadows in my morning cup,
Smilin’ like I still believe in luck.
But the mirror says what I won’t name —
I stayed behind when the spark left the game.

The hush of air before the trumpet's flame 
Oh yes - the jazz before the pain 
I feel it in my spine,
That velvet beat, that fading heat, the rhythm was divine.
It wasn’t meant for me to chase, or nights we danced so close —
It’s that fire in the phrase… before we froze.
The jazz before the pain… still humming in my sigh.
We were music once — now I just cry. 🎵

Clock hands tap like castanets,
My soul writes checks on old regrets.
Meetings drone in fluorescent blues,
But I chase echoes I still can’t lose.

They say it right — it’s not that face,
But how we burned in sacred space.
One tango night before it turned,
Where every breath was love unlearned.

The hush of air before the trumpet's flame 
Oh yes - the jazz before the pain 
I feel it in my spine,
Not the face, not the plan, but that sweet decay.
It wasn’t kisses lost, or words we failed to say —
It’s the rhythm in the dusk… before it slipped away.
The jazz before the pain — soft shoes and lowered eyes,
I still move to its disguise… the pain before goodbye. 🎵

I thought it was you.
But it was the sway.
The melody we never learned —
And now it plays alone.

oh yes - The jazz before the pain — it’s printed in my chest,
A love song with no singer left, a rhythm half-undressed.
Not the face, not the tears, not the games we played —
But the night we danced… before it all decayed.
The jazz before the pain — my soul still keeps it high,
One last turn beneath the sky… the pain before goodbye. 🎵

The Jazz Before the Pain (Latin Jazz Version)

🎧 Riding My Bicycle
Indie Rock × Jangle Pop × Post-Punk
🕰️ ~92 BPM · 🎹 Key of E Major · 🎸 Melancholic • Bright • Ironically Isolated

A jangly ode to weekday melancholy in full sunlight. "Riding My Bicycle" captures the existential emptiness of post-work hours with glimmering guitars, melodic basslines, and dry, baritone vocals.

The sun’s still high — like it’s mocking you — and the only thing moving is your creaking bike and a mind replaying quiet disappointments. Garden hoses hiss, phones stay silent, and the half-empty street mirrors a half-empty self.

✨ Think:
– Sparkling, bittersweet guitar lines
– Rhythmic nostalgia à la early 80s UK underground
– Lyrical loneliness with melodic irony

📝 “Sun still shining / like it’s in on the hurt.”

Lyrics:

Clock-out click and the air stands still
My shirt sticks like a guilty thrill
The bike creaks low as I push away
Another wasted, whisper-grey day

Nobody waved when I left the door
Nobody waits on my second floor

Riding my bicycle / on a weekday home from work
Sun still shining / like it’s in on the hurt
No one waiting, nowhere to be
Just me and the heat and a half-empty street

Garden hoses hiss like snakes in dreams
The world pretends it’s what it seems
But every house with lights inside
Just echoes back my quiet ride

I check my phone like it might care
Then put it back — there’s nothing there

Riding my bicycle / on a weekday home from work
Sun still shining / like it’s in on the hurt
No one waiting, nowhere to be
Just me and the heat and a half-empty street

Tomorrow’s forecast: more of the same
A quiet commute, a forgotten name
TV glow and a fork on a plate
Dinner for one never tastes that great

Riding my bicycle / on a weekday home from work
Sun still shining / like it’s in on the hurt
No one waiting, nowhere to be
Just me and the heat and a half-empty street

Half-empty street...
Half-empty me...
Half of a life
in full daylight grief...

Riding My Bicycle

🔥 “That’s How We Love” – Indie Rock × Jangle Pop × Post-Punk heartbreak for emotionally gifted pyromaniacs.

Ever tried to hug someone so hard you both fell apart like a poorly-assembled IKEA chair? That’s this song.

💔 What’s inside?
– Guitars jangling like nervous confessions in a therapy group
– Lyrics stitched together from burned journals, broken promises, and one very poetic paper cut
– Drums that sound like your inner child screaming into a pillow
– And yes, a chorus that kisses you, then ghosts you, then comes back with an apology playlist

🎯 Perfect for:
– Crying in your bathroom mirror and rating your tears by aesthetic
– Loving too much and explaining it with astrology
– Whispering “I’m fine” like it’s a punk anthem

🛠️ You’ll hear the sound of holding on too long, letting go too late, and calling it growth because your therapist said so. Also: velvet scars, busted spoons, and doves that need a union rep.

This is romantic damage, wrapped in guitar reverb and poetic delusion.

✨ Go ahead. Press play.
Ruin your day... beautifully.

Lyrics:

That's how we love
With cracked up hands and crooked grace
Serve it hot then leave no trace
We sip the spark, we bruise the bloom
And call it love
(Hey)
Still call it love

Giving hurt when hearts are thin
We pass the light but bleed it in
No roadmap here, no cruel intent
Just echoes moving through cement
We try to hold, not break apart
But holding tight can crack a heart
We meant the warmth, not all this sting
But even doves can lose their wing
To give it all
And take it back
To fill a soul
And leave a crack

That's how we love
With busted spoons and velvet scars
It starts with hope, ends behind bars
We drink the burn, we taste the gloom
And call it love
We still call it love

Like ink we drop in open seas
We drift through warm uncertainties
We hold the light then let it fall
Walk barefoot through the broken all
To breathe a risk, to speak a flame
A smile can sting, a glance can maim
But what's the game to never leap
Or dive through fire and swim in deep
Don't fear the bruise
It's how we heal
Don't blame the taste
It made it real

This is our way
To give, to fall, to still return
To love through ash, to breathe and burn
To risk the scar, to call it bliss
A maze of grace we can't resist

That’s How We Love (Indie Rock Version)

🎧 Fixer Daily Drops, Vol. 83 – Synthetic Music: Every Hello, Every Goodbye
FDD831–FDD840 – Emotional Echoes Series

FDD831 – Every Hello, Every Goodbye
(The loop begins with a wave and ends with silence.)

FDD832 – Soft Arrival
(They never saw you coming. You barely did.)

FDD833 – Glitch in the Greeting
(Even first moments come with static.)

FDD834 – Stay Awhile
(A request coded in hope.)

FDD835 – Warm Disconnect
(Leaving gently still hurts.)

FDD836 – Last Seen Online
(Presence that fades pixel by pixel.)

FDD837 – Echoed Goodbye
(It wasn’t said out loud — but it stayed.)

FDD838 – Farewell Syntax
(Closure wrapped in logic.)

FDD839 – Fading Input
(Fewer words. Slower responses. Then nothing.)

FDD840 – Until the Next Hello
(The end is a beginning, waiting.)



FDD831 – Every Hello, Every Goodbye

She said forever — and left me in the dark.
So I danced through the pain, until all that was left was a hint of flame.

A Hint of Flame

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New tracks tagged #BittersweetSound