Demo debut de Resquicio, proyecto de gótico agropecuario y banjo apocalíptico de la ciudad de Ningún Lugar en Villa Desgracia, Suramérica.
Primera maqueta del EP "El Graznido Del Gallinazo"
próximamente disponible.

Cali-Pereira; Colombia.

Resquicio - 2023

El Graznido Del Gallinazo

El Diablo En El Rincón

Oh, there are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,
where the cotton blooms and blows
Why he left his home in the South to roam
'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold but the land of gold
seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way
that he'd sooner live in Hell. Woo-hoo!
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way
over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold
it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
till sometimes we couldn't see,
It wasn't much fun, but the only one
to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight
in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead
were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap", says he
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you
won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;
then he says with a sort of moan,
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold
till I'm chilled clean through to the bone
Yet 'taint being dead-it's my awful dread
of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,
you'll cremate my last remains.
I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,
and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice
it was called the Alice May,
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my
cre-ma-tor-eum"!
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor
and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around,
and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared
such a blaze you seldom see

,
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,
and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about
ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said,
"I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked".
Then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,
in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,
and he said, "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear
you'll let in the cold and storm--
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the first time I've been warm".

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Original Poem By Robert W. Service 1874 –1958

The Cremation of Sam McGee ×͜×

This is not about another song about a character, this is about a real, very disgusting, horrifying crime that took place in 1922 on a farm in Bavaria!

Something

A second song about the crime that took place on an a farm in Bavaria in 1922. This is the second part of "Something".

Broken Souls

A lullaby that takes forty years in one night.
40 BPM of stolen childhood: an old man remembers the song the playground shadows sang when they took him… and let him come back wrong.
Music-box innocence, glass harmonica tears, and a swing that never stops creaking.
Close your eyes.
You’re safe with us.

You're safe with us

It started with some sound advice…
Ended with a demon wearing my face.
60 BPM of pure horror folk:
It lied about my plays.
It lied about my voice.
It lied with a smile.
This ain’t no A.I.
It’s a demon in disguise.

GROK

You're safe with us (Remastered)

Banjo apocalíptico 🪕
Gótico agropecuario lo-fi de Villa Desgracia, Suramérica 💀

I might be a guy from Munich, Bavaria, but I'm a huge fan of irish music and celtic music in general and also of Ireland and also Scotland as countries. It's the culture and the vibe in general which made me falling in love a bit with those places.

I mostly write my lyrics myself, always completely randomly, and produce the songs with the help of AI. That's just because I can't really sing and AI is therefore a good tool for realizing ideas. Technology is not my intention, it's the music.

Besides, I don't do this for money or anything like that; it's purely a hobby. It's important to me that people listen to the songs honestly if they like them.

Cursed melodies. Family graves. Crossroads debts.
Southern Gothic nightmares & human heartbreak.
Welcome to 0165 Productions.
Leave pure or don’t leave at all.

Music Studio, covering any genre, any kind of artist.

New tracks tagged #HorrorFolk