This album  explores the multifaceted nature of love, from the blush of new romance to the steadfast comfort of enduring partnership, alongside the bonds of family and friendship, honoring those who shape our lives. 

The Golden Cage of Youth

The Anthem of the Gathering

Fences We Built, Bridges We Crossed

A Note Beneath the Stone

Winter Mornings, Summer Nights

Walk Through the Harvest Fields

Empty Kitchen, Silent House

The Gardener's Hands

"Daddy’s House Shoes" is a goodbye that came too late.
A father who only in death realizes how much love he hid behind his hardened hands.
A daughter still walking through life in his shoes — across creaking floors where memories whisper his name.

It’s a song about guilt and forgiveness, about the words never spoken and the love that still breathes in silence.
For the fathers who still have time to say, “I’m proud of you.”
And for the daughters who learned to carry both the pain and the strength forward.

"Love keeps walking, between the old and new."

Daddy’s house shoes

Welcome to the Ministry of Touch — a government office where love has to wait in line, kisses need carbon copies, and romance is strictly by appointment only.

This track is chillwave bureaucracy:
✨ synths as fluorescent as office lights,
✨ beats as mechanical as a stamp machine,
✨ and longing that’s been filed in triplicate under “Affection Denied.”

Imagine Kafka moonlighting as a nightclub clerk, or your typewriter secretly yearning for skin. That’s the vibe.

So clock in, pull a lever, and let the Kiss Operator process your feelings. Don’t forget Form C — without it, you’ll never dance.

Lyrics:

I punch my card at the Ministry of Touch,
Fluorescent lights, the rules too much.
Every sigh must be signed in blue,
Every kiss must be numbered too.

Stacks of files marked “Affection Denied,”
Love in triplicate, stapled inside.
A window clerk asks, “Do you have form C?”
Without it, darling, you’ll never kiss me.

I’m the kiss operator,
Stuck inside this state machine.
Stamps and seals for every feeling,
Nothing’s ever what it seems.
Conveyor belts of silent yearning,
Levers pulled but hearts don’t move.
I’m the kiss operator,
Processing a love I can’t approve.

The phones all ring but no one replies,
The air tastes dry, fluorescent lies.
A shadow writes minutes of my desire,
Ink-smudged lips in a filing fire.

The supervisor coughs: “No passion today.”
He locks the drawer, he hides the way.
But even the typewriter dreams of skin,
Letters falling where kisses should’ve been.

I’m the kiss operator,
Stuck inside this state machine.
Stamps and seals for every feeling,
Nothing’s ever what it seems.
Conveyor belts of silent yearning,
Levers pulled but hearts don’t move.
I’m the kiss operator,
Processing a love I can’t approve.

Pages flutter like wings of shame,
The system erases your tender name.
But in the margins, scribbled small,
A secret kiss escapes it all.

I clock out late, the corridors hum,
No lips to count, no love to come.
The keys all rust, the papers fade,
But the kiss operator
stays on parade.

Kiss Operator

Godvliet Records | Where Stories and Music Converge

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Jeg skriver sangtekster, men lader Suno AI tage vokalen… for alles skyld.

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!

New tracks tagged #nostalgicvibes