The winds grow cold,
and they are carrying the scent
of bygone fairytales.
But I’m getting old,
and all my innocence was spent
along this lifelong trail.

My body aches,
and my mind is sifting
through the gravel of my memories. 
My spirit breaks, 
yet my heart is singing
all these arbitrary melodies.

Death is waiting in the wings,
counting every passing year;
I try to think of other things,
but it’s a persistent fear.

My heart is racing
when I’m facing
the inevitable.
I need to breathe in
and to scream out
all the fear that I hold…
Whoa ooh whoa

Heart attack, brain attack,
cancers, tumors or the flu.
Falling down, cracking up,
something’s bound to get to you.

Palpitations, permutations,
on maturation and expiration.
Indigestion, indignation,
at my coming termination.

I don’t care how,
just not right now.

Death is waiting in the wings,
counting every passing year;
I try to think of other things,
but it’s a persistent fear.

My heart is racing
when I’m facing
the inevitable.
I need to breathe in
and to scream out
all the fear that I hold.
Oh ooh ooh ooh

Still, there’s beauty in autumn,
and much pride in the fall.
Some big dreams didn’t happen,
but you can’t have it all.

I’ve got grace, I’ve got style,
so many reasons to smile.
And with you here by my side,
I’ll try to take it all in stride…

Ohhh, take it in stride, baby,
Enjoy the rest of my ride,
mm-hmm
and roll ahead with the tide,
Hey hey
Until the day that I die.

Whoa oh oh oh
Whoa yeah yeah yeah
Oh yeah

The Inevitable

I’m a simple man, not experimental;
my taste is strictly fundamental.
There’s one combination that can’t be beat—
just gimme a dish with potatoes and meat.

Gimme wings and wedges,
or a burger with fries,
carne con papas,
or a nice shepherd’s pie.
How about goulash,
or bangers and mash,
some good ol’ pot roast,
or a corned beef hash.

Just mixin’ two fixin’s
will make a fine treat:
you take some potatoes,
then you add in the meat.

Meat, meat, meat and potatoes,
Meat, meat, meat and potatoes,
There sure ain’t nothin’ greater
than meat with some potatoes.

Certain cats are particular and plenty refined;
they’ll drive every cook right out of their mind.
But I ain’t that picky about what I eat,
it’s just gotta have potatoes and meat!

Gimme Beef Bourguignon,
or a thick Irish stew,
even some of them fish and chips will do.
A potluck hotdish, or plain steak and fries—
any of these will gladden my eyes.

Two simple things combined to give you relief:
big starchy spuds, and a prime cut of beef.

Meat, meat, meat and potatoes,
Meat, meat, meat and potatoes,
There sure ain’t nothin’ greater
than meat with some potatoes.

Cook it up, baby!

You wanna know why I’m not that keen
on fancy restaurants with crazy cuisine?
They’ll serve you a platter
with three garnished beans,
that’ll cost you as much
as a new limousine!

Why complicate life and waste your cash?
Just order up bacon with a side of hash.
Who cares about plating or snooty mouthfeel,
when you can taste heaven for a ten-dollar bill!

You’ll get it for cheap, but the flavor is priceless:
delicious crisp patties with crunchy pork slices.

Meat, meat, meat and potatoes,
Meat, meat, meat and potatoes,
There sure ain’t nothin’ greater
than meat with some potatoes.

Yeah, let it sizzle, son!

Check please!

Meat and Potatoes

On the shore of the Black Sea
lies my favorite place to be.
South of the Odesa Port,
you’ll find the Brutalist Resort!

It ain't clean, it ain't new,
but it's got an awesome view,
and the ballroom is still sound,
so come over and get down!

Abandoned, but renowned
to be a stellar party spot,
for the people in the know,
who love to drop it like it’s hot.

The Brutalist Resort,
that’s where we meet
to blast some beats, yeah.
The Brutalist Resort,
the perfect place
to bomb the bass...
In your face!

Whoa whoa, whoa ohh,
Brutalist Resort, baby...
Yeah, yeah, yeah!
Our Brutalist Resort, yeah!
Yeah!
It’s a groovy old pile
where we kick it in style!
Uh-huh, uh-huh.

The White Lotus can't compare
with our Yellow Sunflower.
It was the best hotel out there,
’till the economy soured.

The concrete walls are cracked,
and the air is skunky,
but the dancefloor is superb,
so let's all get funky!

That’s where Stilyagi hipsters
went for cocktails and beer,
and where Serhiy Paradzhanov
swung from the chandelier.

Then the punk rockers came,
with their tall, spiky hair,
and eventually the ravers,
who made it their lair.

We've got varennya preserves,
and a stack of combat rations.
Dark olive M-Tac coats
are the prevailing fashion.
The speakers are exploding
with electro folk trance,
while the horilka is maintaining
our hectic dance.

The Brutalist Resort,
is where we party all night long.
The Brutalist Resort,
the vibe is tight,
the booze is strong.
Sing our song!

Whoa whoa, whoa ohh,
Brutalist Resort, baby...
Yeah, yeah, yeah!
Our Brutalist Resort, yeah!
Yeah!
It’s a groovy old pile
where we kick it in style!
Uh-huh, uh-huh.

Ukraina, let’s party,
for the strength of the folk!
The triumph of rhythm
shall bolster our song.
Yeah, the vigorous spirit
of liquor and smoke,
has made us all very happy
and healthy, and strong!

Through stormy seas
the melody of music
has steered us,
along the great groove
that the trident did lead!
With a jubilant beat,
we will raise up the people,
inspired by Nemiroff shots
and some good Klychkov weed!

The Brutalist Resort,
near the Odesa Port.
The Brutalist Resort,
that’s where we hold our court,
uh-huh.
The Brutalist Resort,
tell all your cool friends.
The Brutalist Resort,
it’s where the fun never ends.
Get down…

Slava Ukraini!

The Brutalist Resort

I am a graphic designer by trade
and a musician at heart.
All original lyrics and music concepts
were written and designed by me.
The production of the music
was realized using the Suno AI platform.
As a premium subscriber,
I retain all commercial and
intellectual rights to this work.

The Brutalist Resort

The Immaculate Glitch

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