lyrics
-
all the time that 
I thought I had
hanging out with 
our dead dog
in the grass
every evening 
still grieving 
you 

see you in heaven 

fourth of july 
my head is so tired 

dead dog

Dedicated to those struggling or who know someone struggling with addiction.

Just A Lost Soul

Never Ending Love Story

I met you on a plane 
Sitting by yourself 
Not knowing fate 
Was about to be dealt. 
As I was  
Escaping myself. 
A vision of presence 
Became 
An experience of 
My life 
As I was about to 
Meet my wife. 
Unaware of the 
Intrinsic leaping. 
A willfulness 
That keeps creeping 
Past the direction 
Of what I was seeking 
The crossing of 
Our paths 
Bringing experiences 
To internal ever last. 
Two lives that 
Blast past 
Projecting to what they 
Have been cast. 
Love  
not the next task 
the joining of two hearts 
simple and free 
to experience a life 
of you and me. 

Unaware of the 
Intrinsic leaping. 
A willfulness 
That keeps creeping 
Past the direction 
Of what I was seeking 
The crossing of 
Our paths 
Bringing experiences 
To internal ever last. 

On a Plane

The Tattooed Man is a true story from 1930s Croydon pieced together from old newspaper cuttings.

Croydon Tales - The Tattooed Man

"The Man Who Built the Soul of Montana” is a heartfelt, story-driven ballad that captures the life and legacy of Frank Cikan—an immigrant, visionary, and quiet hero whose architectural genius helped shape Montana’s identity. With the tone of a timeless country-western anthem, the song blends rugged Americana with reverent storytelling, painting a portrait of a man who turned stone, timber, and silence into living art. From designing iconic resorts to opening his home for hundreds of concerts, Frank’s life was a testament to endurance, humility, and generosity. This song honors not just the structures he built, but the spirit he left behind—a soul woven into the mountains, the rivers, and the hearts of those who call Montana home.

The Man Who Built the Soul of Montana

“Quote Unquote”

The true story about the Disappearance and Return of Linnea Östmark

In January 1907, Ebba Linnea Östmark was born in Norrbärke parish. A few years later, her family moved to Norsån near Norhyttan, where her father worked as a charcoal burner. Linnea was the youngest of six children.

On Wednesday, May 15th, 1912, five-year-old Linnea disappeared while playing with other children near the forest. She lost her way and wandered deeper into the woods. Around 5 PM, her parents realized she was missing. Her cap and a torn piece of her apron were later found nearly 3 kilometers from home. Night fell, bringing a bitter frost.

The next morning, around 500 people from surrounding villages joined a massive search. They found one of Linnea's shoes in a swamp but still no sign of her. Another cold night passed.

On Friday, May 17th, searchers again spread out. As evening approached, a miracle occurred—Linnea was found sitting calmly on a stone near Mellansjösågen, over 10 kilometers from home. She was tired and her apron was torn, but she was safe and in good spirits.

She said she hadn’t cried, felt cold, or gone hungry—despite wearing no hat, no socks, and only one shoe. She had tried to find someone at a nearby cabin, but it was empty. Linnea didn’t understand why people were searching—she was just trying to get back to her mother.

She was carried home, ate eagerly on the way, and slept soundly through the night. By morning, she was cheerful and unharmed. A photograph was taken of her sitting on that stone—rumored to have been captured by Albert Granlund, who would become nationally known the following year.

Linnea lived a long life. She married Karl Gustaf Hultman in 1925 and passed away peacefully in 1980 at the age of 73.

Into the Cold – The Ballad of Linnea Östmark

The true Story of Vikbacks-Lotta - A Mother’s Endless Grief Beneath the Earth

In the 1870s near Grängesberg, a poor widow named Lotta lived in a small cottage near Vikbacken. Her husband had died on Christmas Eve, falling to his death in a mine shaft. But the true heartbreak came three years later, when her only son, 22-year-old Karl Erik Kjellman, was killed in a mine collapse at the Pick Mine—buried alive beneath tons of stone.

The mine was being closed and flooded, and safety had been neglected. Erik, nearly deaf after a dynamite accident, didn’t hear the warning in time. His body was never recovered. The mining company deemed it too dangerous and costly to retrieve him. His mother, Vikbacks-Lotta, devastated and desperate, pleaded for his remains—but her cries fell on indifferent ears.

Refusing to give up, Lotta walked to Ludvika, took the train and then a boat to Stockholm to plead with the mining authority, even hoping to see the King. She was received kindly, but no action was taken. Years passed. She declined compensation from the company, saying she wouldn’t "sell her beloved son." Eventually, she accepted only one thing—a piece of black fabric for a mourning dress.

Three years after the tragedy, a unique funeral was held. The mine was silent, the town gathered, and a priest led the ceremony from a wooden bridge over the shaft. As hymns played, the priest dropped soil into the abyss, blessing the resting place of a young man who would never lie in a graveyard, and a mother who would never hold him again.

Lotta, forever changed, continued to visit the mine in grief until her death. The sorrow consumed her, and it’s said it was the grief itself that killed her.

Some whispered her husband’s death wasn’t an accident, but murder—making her loss even more unbearable. And Erik’s deafness, caused by a coworker’s prank with explosives weeks before the collapse, may have sealed his fate.

Fifty years later, the mine was reopened and operations neared the place of the collapse. No one knows if Erik’s remains were ever found—or if he still lies buried where he fell.

This is the story of Vikbacks-Lotta: a mother’s hopeless battle against a faceless industry, a tale of love, sorrow, and unyielding grief echoing through the mines of Grängesberg.

The Black Dress of Vikbacks-Lotta

High above the forests near Grangärde (Dalarna, Sweden) ies an old and lonely pasture once called Masen’s Huts. Long ago, farmers from Östanbjörka drove their cattle there. But one night, unlike any other, dark spirits swept through the woods—and the mountain has borne a different name ever since: Bride Mountain.

The tale goes:

A young milkmaid was tending her animals alone when shadows began to move among the trees. Forest spirits emerged from the gloom and took her before she could flee. Enchanted and powerless, she was dressed in a shimmering bridal gown and crowned with glittering silver. At midnight, she was to be wed to a mountain troll.

But someone saw her fate—a loyal dog. In panic, it fled the pasture, racing across bogs and trails to fetch the master in Östanbjörka. Understanding the danger, the man rushed back with the dog, up to the haunted pasture.

There, in the glade, trolls danced in a ring around the entranced girl, singing dark wedding songs with goblets in their twisted hands. Acting quickly, the man grabbed two heavy axes and crossed them over a threshold—steel against sorcery.

A terrible scream rang through the forest. The trolls froze, their magic shattered. Begging for mercy, they vanished like morning mist.

The girl remained—pale, but free. In her hand she held a silver goblet, and on her head, a bridal crown. Through the forest echoed the trolls’ final cry:

"Skada mä brudkrona! Skada mä brudkrona!"
("Spare the bridal crown! Spare the bridal crown!")

Some say the crown rests in Grangärde Church, the goblet in Stora Tuna. Others say the opposite. No one knows for sure. But Bride Mountain still stands, and if you listen closely when the mist drifts through the trees, you might hear the echo of a wedding that never was.


- - - - - - - -
Symphonic Metal Epic – based on the legend of Brudberget

Lyrics:
[Intro – Whispered, mysterious, with ambient forest sounds and low choir]
High above the shadowed trees,
Where birches sigh and pines still grieve,
A tale is carved in mist and stone—
The bride who danced with trolls alone…

[Verse I – Slow, ominous]
Far from the village, in silence she stayed,
A maiden tending beasts by fading day.
Masens Bodar, the old fäbod's name,
Where dusk would fall and call the strange.

But one black night, the woods awoke—
With rustling leaves and voices cloaked.
Through veils of gloom the fae did creep,
To steal her soul in moonless sleep.

[Chorus – Bombastic, with full choir and strings]
Bride of the Mountain, veiled in frost,
Bound in shadow, forever lost!
Silver goblet, cursed crown,
Trolls shall dance and stars fall down!
Midnight rings the silent bell—
Who dares to wake this forest spell?

[Verse II – Faster, more intense]
They dressed her pale in ghostly white,
With crown of thorns that gleamed like light.
Their howls became her wedding song,
A vow to darkness, cruel and long.

But one remained who would not yield—
Her loyal hound, the silent shield.
He tore the path through root and mire,
To fetch the one who'd brave the fire.

[Bridge – Dramatic, chanting choir and orchestral surge]
Steel and spirit, heart of flame,
The master came and called her name.
With axes crossed and thunder cried,
The spell was shattered, trolls denied!

[Chorus – Repeated, heavier guitars and layered vocals]
Bride of the Mountain, veiled in frost,
Bound in shadow, forever lost!
Silver goblet, cursed crown,
Trolls shall dance and stars fall down!
Midnight rings the silent bell—
Who dares to wake this forest spell?

[Verse III – Softer, mournful, reflective]
She stood alone, her face turned pale,
A dream undone, a forest tale.
The crown still glowed, the cup in hand,
Relics of that twilight land.

[Outro – Fading, mystical female vocals and whispers]
Some say the crown still rests in grace,
In Grangärde’s sacred, silent place…
But if the fog should stroke your skin,
Beware the vow that waits within...

[Final Echo – Male and female whisper, fading]
"Skada mä brudkrona… skada mä brudkrona…"

The Bride of the mountain trolls

The true story about Sol-Lisa (part one):
It began on a cold January day in 1755, just outside Kopparberg in Sweden, where Elisabeth Ersdotter—called Lisa—was born into one of the wealthiest families in the region. As Lisa reached her twenties, she fell in love with a young, handsome farmhand named Jan. But her father forbade the relationship—Jan was of lower social class and thus unworthy. Lisa was warned: if her father ever caught them together, she would be beaten and disinherited.

Still, love found secret places. Despite being promised in marriage to a respected and wealthy inspector named Carl Gezelius—her parents' ideal match—Lisa continued to meet Jan in secret. When she became pregnant by Jan, panic took hold.

Lisa tried to hide the pregnancy through spring and summer. But rumors spread. When Carl confronted Lisa, she denied everything, and he believed her.

In October 1776, Lisa married Carl. Her pregnancy could no longer be hidden. Carl’s mother suspected something, but Carl continued to trust Lisa’s denials.

When labor began in secret on January 9, 1777, Lisa and her mother shut themselves in the brewhouse. After a painful delivery, a strong, healthy baby boy was born. But for Lisa, the child was a symbol of everything she had lost. She had hoped the baby would be stillborn.

Lisa’s mother considered showing the child to her husband but was stopped by Lisa, who threatened suicide. Left alone briefly with her newborn, Lisa looked at the child—the living evidence of her secret, her shame, her ruined future. And then she made a choice. She wrapped her hand around the baby’s throat and slowly squeezed until the crying stopped.

Sol-Lisa - Part 1 - The Silence in Her Hands

The true story about Sol-Lisa (part two):
On a cold winter day in 1777, Lisa Gezelius gave birth in secret. Alone and terrified, she wrapped her hand around her newborn son's neck and slowly squeezed. The infant's breaths faded until silence remained.

When her mother Catharina returned, Lisa claimed the child was ill. But it was too late — the boy was dead. Catharina took the body, wrapped it in rags, and hid it, moving it from place to place to avoid discovery.

Lisa returned home days later, visibly thinner. Her mother-in-law suspected pregnancy, but Lisa claimed a miscarriage. She believed the secret was safe — the child gone, the shame buried.

But rumors spread. Servants whispered of her swelling belly. The story reached the district judge, Johan Welin, who ordered an investigation. Lisa, her sister Stina, and mother Catharina were brought in for questioning.

Under pressure, Lisa confessed. The child had been born alive and strong — but she had ended its life. Her mother had helped conceal the truth, and the baby’s body was found hidden in a nearby barn. An autopsy confirmed the child was healthy, and signs of strangulation were clear.

Lisa was charged with concealing her pregnancy and murdering her illegitimate child. Her mother was charged with aiding the crime, and her sister with helping cover it up. Lisa’s husband, Carl Gezelius, begged the court for mercy, swearing they had lived happily in marriage — but the law showed no leniency.

Lisa was sentenced to death: beheading followed by burning at the stake. Her mother’s sentence was later reduced, her sister was freed, and the child’s father, Jan Ersson, received only a small fine.

Carl is said to have fallen to his knees before King Gustav III, pleading for his wife’s life. The king refused, declaring: "The crime too grave, the law too strict."

On November 1, 1777, Lisa Gezelius, only 22 years old, was executed near Högberget — dressed in white like a bride, forever remembered as "The Child Murderess."

As she walked to her death, the words from the courtroom wall echoed in her mind:
"He who does evil shall suffer evil."

Sol-Lisa - Part 2 - The Child Murderess

The Ställdalen Train Disaster – January 13, 1956

It was a bitterly cold and snowy Friday, the 13th of January 1956. A fully loaded ore train departed from the Grängesberg mine, and a railbus filled with schoolchildren left Kopparberg. What began as a normal winter day would end in one of Sweden’s worst train disasters.

After passing Silverhöjden station, it was discovered that the brakes on the first ore wagon weren’t working—an air hose had not been connected. Though the locomotive’s brakes functioned, they couldn’t stop the heavy, speeding wagons. The train rushed forward in a shower of sparks. Desperate attempts to call ahead failed.

Coming from the opposite direction, the railbus carried children laughing on their way home from school. It was supposed to be a carefree ride toward the weekend.

At Ställdalen station, the ore train should have stopped to let the railbus pass. Instead, it thundered through in a storm of sparks. Efforts to cut the power were useless—the railbus was diesel-powered, and the ore train could not be stopped.

Moments later, near the now-infamous "Pole 98" outside Ställdalen, the two trains collided. The wooden-bodied railbus stood no chance against the massive steel of the ore train.

Twenty people were killed that day—twelve of them children, five from the same class. Newspapers the next day spoke of a massacre, a battlefield of twisted metal and unimaginable grief. Aftonbladet published a class photo, circling the children who had died.

The sorrow was overwhelming, a heavy silence that blanketed the region for decades—and still lingers. The victims were simply on their way home. Children with full lives ahead of them. Their final seconds filled with terror no one should endure.

On January 23, 1956, the twelve children were buried together in Kopparberg. The entire region was paralyzed by grief.

It wasn’t until fifty years later, in 2006, that a memorial cross was raised at the site. Trains still rush past, just meters behind it. Beautiful, yet unbearably tragic.

The railbus driver managed to jump at the very last moment, though he was badly injured. He later returned to duty. The ore train driver survived too—but never boarded a train again. The locomotive (Ma 405) was repaired and remained in service until 2012. Today, it rests in a museum, its cab painted black as a symbol of mourning.

We must never forget the Ställdalen tragedy. Never.

The Ställdalen Train Disaster  – Thirteen Souls of Snow

The true story about Magdalena’s Mire

Magdalena’s Mire lies long and narrow, veiled in mist beside the road between Svartviken and Lilla Kumlan. Long ago, a lady from Stockholm passed through with her daughter, dressed in shining silks and colorful shawls, accompanied by her loyal dog and proud horse.

That night, she unknowingly camped near the man who would become her killer. Blinded by greed, he believed her possessions held great wealth—unaware her money had already been sent ahead to Stockholm.

At dawn, as she prepared to leave, he struck. First, the dog fell to the axe, then the horse. The lady screamed once before silence took her. Her little daughter, crying in fear, offered her doll to the man, begging for mercy. But lost in darkness, he killed her too.

There was no treasure—only death. He buried the bodies near a stone cairn and tried to mask the smell with the blood of a slaughtered calf. The animals were sunk into the mire.

Years passed, but the truth could not stay buried. Justice caught up with him, and he was executed in Örebro. His family tried to help him escape death by smuggling glass-laced cheese into the prison, but their plot failed.

Still today, by the cairn, a spruce tree grows—cut down twice, but always rising again. Ferns curl around its base like a wreath on a secret grave. When the wind whispers through the branches, it carries the echo of a child’s voice, a final plea, and footsteps that never reached home.

A place of memory, sorrow, and silence.
The name on the wooden sign reads: “Magdalena’s Mire.”

Magdalena's Mire

The true story about The Tragedy of Brudbacken

It happened long ago, sometime in the 1800s.
A bride and groom traveled by horse and carriage, adorned with birch leaves and flowers, on their way to the church in Dala-Floda to exchange vows before God.

They sat close, hands intertwined, hearts full of love and laughter. Behind them lay the home they had left; ahead, a shared future awaited. By nightfall, they would return as husband and wife.

But fate is fickle, and life as fragile as autumn leaves.

As the carriage climbed a hill near Lake Håjen, a sudden gust tore through the forest. With a crack and thunderous crash, a great pine fell—straight onto the wagon. In an instant, joy turned to silence.

The bride was still, her life taken by the fallen tree. The groom, left alone, held her warm hand and watched their dreams fade with the evening light.

They never reached the church. Never spoke their vows.
Their journey ended in that quiet forest.

Since then, the hill has borne a sorrowful name—Brudbacken, The Bride’s Hill.
Once, travelers left branches there in mourning, but now only a small sign remains. Still, the wind whispers through the trees, telling of a love that never bloomed, and laughter that was silenced forever.

And if you pass this way—stop. Listen.
Remember those whose happiness vanished in a single moment.
And when you go—hold your loved ones close.
Live. No one knows what waits beyond the next hill.



The Bride Beneath the Pine - The Tragedy of Brudbacken

This true story likely took place in the early 1800s—perhaps even earlier.
The manor (set in Dalarna, Sweden) was ruled by a stern ironworks master and his merciless wife. In preparation for a grand celebration, servants worked day and night under the strict hand of the mistress.

In one of the cottages, young maids brewed beer—a grueling task that wore them down.
One of them, exhausted, stepped outside for a moment and stumbled toward the outhouse.
Time passed, but she didn’t return. The irritated mistress found her asleep, slumped in fatigue.

In a fit of rage, the mistress struck the maid in the head with a heavy iron key—killing her instantly. The key was thrown away and lost for years.

The maid was buried a few hundred meters from the house, beside an old country road now overgrown and forgotten. The grave lies on a small hill called Robacken, marked only by a few simple stones. Peaceful, yet unsettling.

Some say the maid had become pregnant, and that was the true cause of her death.
But no one knows for sure. Was the mistress ever punished? Did anyone even learn of the crime?

What we do know is this:
In the silent woods, beside a vanished road, lies the forgotten victim of what became known as The Key-Slaying.

The manor stood abandoned for years. Today it looks peaceful—restored, with horses grazing under the sun. But beneath the surface lingers a darker past—
The tale of a murdered maid, her name long lost to time.

And today, just today—we remember her.
Do not forget her.

The Key and the Silent Grave - The Key-Slaying at Robacken

Tilda, 48, lived a quiet life in a small cottage i Klenshyttan with her twin sons, Knut and Erik, both 23. Known in the village as a hard-working woman, she and her sons were respected and decent folk. But in recent months, something had changed. Tilda’s behavior grew erratic—her once steady mind now clouded by darkness.

Rumors said it began after she attended a religious meeting in Blötberget. She arrived disoriented, disturbed the gathering, and had to be driven home. After that, she often spoke of sin and death, claiming she was damned and deserved to die.

Her sons grew worried. They considered sending her to a rest home, but never did. Then came the night when death descended.

Knut awoke to hushed voices. In the kitchen, he found his mother and brother sitting silently. On the floor—an axe, a bottle of gasoline, and a rope. Tilda gave a chilling reply when asked about it: “What does it matter with this old house?”

The sons persuaded her to abandon her plan, and Erik hid the items. But Knut couldn’t sleep—fear gnawed at him. What was their mother truly capable of?

The next morning, all seemed normal. Tilda made breakfast and packed Knut’s lunch. He left early for his shift at the Blötberget mine, unaware of the horror to come.

That afternoon, he returned home. The cottage was locked. No answer. A chilling silence hung over the place. With the help of a neighbor, Johan, he forced the door open.

Inside was a scene of horror:
Tilda, hanging lifeless in the kitchen.
Erik, collapsed in blood, his head gashed by the blunt end of an axe.

Tilda had struck her son—twice—then taken her own life.

Miraculously, Erik was still alive. He was rushed to the hospital in critical condition—but survived. Knut never left his side, shattered by grief. As for Tilda, her end came there in that quiet house. What drove her to such madness—we’ll never know. Was it the sermon that broke her spirit? Or had her soul long been swallowed by the blackest dark?

The Silent Axe - The Tragedy of Tilda

It was a beautiful summer morning with a clear blue sky 1890. Jan-Ers Per Jansson, a landowner, set out in a rowboat with his son August, the maid Sofia Andersson, and two temporary helpers: Näbb-Jan Persson and the young Vikars-Lotta. Their departure was timed to coincide with the steamboat S/S Grangärde leaving the harbor for a scheduled trip on Lake Väsman.

Someone had the idea to tie the rowboat to the steamboat to save time and effort on the way to Mass. Since the steamer could easily pull heavy barges, towing the rowboat seemed harmless. The five boarded, the boat was tied, and they began their journey around 7 a.m., birds singing in the trees.

It soon became clear the rowboat was overloaded, but the water was calm, and the steamer moved slowly—no one saw danger. As they neared their destination, the steamboat turned to avoid a known reef. The wake created by the turn wasn’t large, but for the heavy rowboat, the sideways waves were disastrous. The boat rocked violently and finally capsized, throwing all five into the lake.

Panic broke out. Per Jansson was a good swimmer, but his son August was not. Per tried to keep him afloat but eventually lost his grip, and August sank. Sofia likely grabbed a grindstone crank in her panic and was dragged down with it. Näbb-Jan stayed afloat on a wooden plank, and Vikars-Lotta clung to floating tools.

At first, no one on the steamboat noticed the accident. When they finally did, they turned back to help—but only three people could be found.

The summer morning had barely begun, yet death had already cast its dark shadow. The birds fell silent. Rescue ropes and equipment were brought out. August’s body was soon recovered, but Sofia was missing, and the accident area was too wide for immediate results. The search was postponed until Sunday, nearly a week later.

That Sunday morning, many boats from Sunnansjö and nearby villages gathered to help search Lake Väsman. It wasn’t long before they recovered the body of the unfortunate maid Sofia from the depths.

The Black Wake - The Tragedy on Lake Väsman 1890

Hello there. 

I'm Tim, a media producer based in South London.

I'm available to help with all your media projects and on these pages you'll hear samples of my voice and audio production work.

Visit my website at timlonghurst.net to see my graphic design and video production work.

Feel free to contact me to discuss how we might work together.

Regards
Tim

Our intention with our musical poetry is to discover a rhythm for peace of mind. Stand on your purpose, Live through each day, Rest, Listen and pray. Pray for the meditative rhythm as we work and play.

My name is Jaclyn Dyer, I am forty years old mother of two living children, My life is all throughout my lyrics be prepared, listeners have said my music is full of pure raw emotion. Some music may be controversial my traumas are four you entertainment purposes only.

At Rustic Elegance Music Productions, we specialize in crafting custom soundtracks that tell your story, amplify your brand, and leave a lasting impression. Whether you're a business looking to connect with your audience through a catchy jingle, a commercial in need of cinematic sound design, or an artist ready to bring your music to life—we bring vision and authenticity to every note.

Our team blends the soul of Americana, country, and regional influence with modern production tools to deliver music and messaging that feels both timeless and fresh. From custom jingles and radio-ready commercials to full-length tribute albums and branded soundscapes, we create audio experiences that resonate with heart, purpose, and power.

We work closely with advertisers, filmmakers, brands, musicians, and local businesses to ensure every piece of music, every voiceover, and every sound effect supports your message with clarity and emotion.

Our services include:

Custom jingles & brand anthems

Commercial soundtracks (TV, radio, digital)

Background scores for real estate & lifestyle videos

Full-length original songs & tribute albums

Voiceovers and audio storytelling

Music production and mixing

Rustic Elegance Music Productions isn’t just about sound—it’s about identity. We help you find your voice and turn it into a legacy that sings.

www.bigfootbeats.com
www.bigfootcollective.com

the city is an amplifier 
for those sensitive to its sound
remembering everything

New tracks tagged #True story