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Top Hits Only

"Unbekannter Künstler – Ambient Chillwave Lo-Fi Playlist"
This is not just background music. This is the slow breathing of the evening when the air cools, the light fades, and the world finally stops demanding. Every track in this collection is chosen to feel like stepping barefoot into a room lit only by the memory of a sunset — warm but fading, familiar yet untouchable.

The synths drift like the surface of a lake under a violet sky; beats arrive not to move you, but to remind you that time is still passing, quietly. Lo-fi textures crackle like old film reels, carrying fragments of other summers you can almost remember. The melodies never shout — they hum, they sway, they dissolve into each other like mist over water.

It’s music for train windows and dim hallways, for the moment you put down your phone and realize you’ve been listening to the rain for ten minutes without moving. It’s music for the last light before the stars take over.

Sit down. Let the world blur at the edges. Here, nothing asks for your attention — and yet, somehow, you give it anyway.

Ambient Chillwave Lo-fi Playlist

It’s 10:04, I checked the clock again,
One hand moves, while I remain.
Empty chairs and silver spoons,
Muted echoes in this quiet saloon.
The tiles still smell of yesterday’s bread,
But no one’s here, just me instead.
An older woman gave this glass,
Coca Cola fizzing like the past.
She vanished to the desk again,
One eye watching like I might offend.

Every tick is mercyless,
This hour won’t stop to care or guess.
I’m the only soul at this morning show,
Sipping silence, letting go.

And I sip on my cola drink — let my thoughts sink —
Why am I feeling sad, and what is this life about?
How to find out? How to find out?
And I sip on my cola drink — as the minutes blink —
Will this moment matter, or will it just burn out?
How to find out? How to find out?

The labels are in a foreign script,
And I can’t ask what I’ve just sipped.
The floor is clean, the light is soft,
Yet something heavy won’t come off.
Behind the glass, she checks the phone,
I wonder if she feels alone.
I think of all the things I’ve lost,
And how each joy has had its cost.
This taste, this place, this quiet bar,
Will fade like faces in a passing car.

No trumpet sounds, no final clue,
Just time that swallows me and you.
Each weekday morning looks the same,
But none of them will get a name.

And I sip on my cola drink — let my thoughts sink —
Why am I feeling sad, and what is this life about?
How to find out? How to find out?
And I sip on my cola drink — as the minutes blink —
Will this moment matter, or will it just burn out?
How to find out? How to find out?

9:00 was a second ago,
11:00 is breathing down my neck.
Days fold like napkins,
Weeks vanish like steam.
And one day, this room will be dust,
And I won’t even know what I forgot.

And I sip on my cola drink — let my thoughts sink —
Why am I feeling sad, and what is this life about?
How to find out? How to find out?
And I sip on my cola drink — as the world shrinks —
No one will remember, not even me — no doubt.
How to find out? How to find out?

Coca Cola

Midnight on the dashboard glow
Empty streets, nowhere to go
Heart’s a map with no clear sign
Just the hum of tires and wasted time
Pulled to the curb where memories burn
A flash of heat, a cold return
Sky breaks open, crying loud
Heavy drops like a ghosted crowd

And the radio bleeds, just my luck
Tony’s voice like a haunting touch
"Another sad love song"... oh God—
Right when I thought I’d had enough

Rain on the roof — boom boom boom
Tears in the beat — doom doom doom
Sad love song — all too soon
Can't dance this feeling out the room

Windows fog like breath on glass
Clock hands tick but never pass
Thought I was numb, but I still feel
Every chorus cutting real
Echoes echo what I hide
Lonely's louder from inside
The night’s a mirror, cracked and wide
I’m just the shadow in the driver's side

And the world don’t pause, it spins and stings
While the saddest song just softly rings
She’s gone, I’m here, and this heart sings—
But only in minor keys

Rain on the roof — boom boom boom
Tears in the beat — doom doom doom
Sad love song — all too soon
Can't dance this feeling out the room

I didn’t ask the sky to weep
Didn’t ask the song to cut so deep
But here I am, a broken beat
In a world that won’t skip, won’t repeat

Rain on the roof — boom boom boom
Tears in the beat — doom doom doom
Sad love song — all too soon
Can't dance this feeling out the room

Another Sad Jazz Song

No chase, no games, I’m done with that
Heart on chill, I like where I’m at
Dim the lights, pour the wine
If it’s real, it comes in time

No texts, no double taps
No decoding love from zodiac apps
I’m not lost, I’m just free
If you want me, you know where I’ll be

I won’t beg, I won’t plead
Don’t need love on dirty knees
If it burns, let it fade
I’m not here to be remade

🔥 You can’t force love — it don’t obey
It don’t arrive ‘cause you begged it to stay
I’m at home, looking fine, feeling lit
If you want me, baby, come commit!
I’ll open the door — no push, no shove
Come correct if you call it love 🔥

I dance alone in my own glow
Don’t need a plus-one to steal the show
No more wishes on falling stars
Just good music and unlocked hearts

Yeah I’m rare, like Friday night peace
Don’t mistake silence for a heart on lease
I’m not hiding, I’m just high
On life, on vibes, on my own supply

🔥 You can’t force love — it don’t obey
It don’t arrive ‘cause you begged it to stay
I’m at home, looking fine, feeling lit
If you want me, baby, come commit!
I’ll open the door — no push, no shove
Come correct if you call it love 🔥

Can't Force Love (Deep House Version)

I opened the door — did I even think?
Of stories carved in every link?
Or was I just cold, or tired, or numb,
Dreaming of silence, a bed to succumb?
A nice old carpet, soft and proud,
Long halls where whispers aren’t too loud.
Each door I passed could hold a tale,
But only silence marked the trail.

No footsteps, no voices, no clinking plates,
Just time standing still behind the gates.
Born in peace, yet built on ash —
You breathed in slow, with quiet flash.

🎶 1922 — and winter’s at the door,
He doesn’t knock, he’s heard before.
With leaves still clinging, cold and thin,
And something strange beneath the skin.
1922 — I felt your spine,
Old wooden bones in fading shine.
I came for sleep, I stayed for lore —
1922, with winter at the door. 🎶

Rapallo ink still wet with trust,
And Walther fell into the dust.
Insulin saved, the Irish cried,
While quiet hands built you with pride.
Mussolini rose, raw goods ran dry,
But still you reached toward the sky.
Brick by brick, you took your stand,
A shelter shaped by human hand.

What did I want? A pillow, a prayer?
Just steam on glass and cleaner air?
But I found a century dressed in dust,
And walls that whisper: “feel, don’t trust.”

🎶 1922 — and winter’s at the door,
He waits like he has waited before.
A suitcase packed with frost and light,
And stories hidden from the night.
1922 — you held me tight,
Through autumn’s end and morning white.
And when I left, I knew much more —
1922, with winter at the door. 🎶

It was a sunny morning. But cold.
He stood there.
Winter.
Not unkind. Not loud.
With surprises in his bag.
But spring came,
and one by one...
they melted.
And in the summer… they were gone.

1922 (Deep House Version)

I was there...
Vienna. Nußwaldgasse.
A small room, a narrow bed,
and silence — so thick you’d choke if you tried to breathe it.
Dust floated like memories refusing to settle.
And in the center of it all:
Karl Pekarna.
Not broken. Just… slowed.
But his eyes — they still moved like keepers do.
Fast. Sharp. Remembering everything.

He flew once — high and far,
From Vienna to Glasgow, chasing a star.
First football legionnaire from the European mainland,
A goalkeeper of steel with velvet hands.
They called my name in foreign tongues,
Between the chants, between the drums.
I caught the world in leather palms,
And held the line with quiet psalms.

🎵 Over the lines, through wind and rain,
First from the mainland, crossing the lane.
The football legionnaire, blazing the way,
But glory fades — and skies turn gray.
They cheered my name, they wrote it in gold,
Now I grow quiet, now I grow old.
Still I breathe, still I burn,
Still I wait for one return...
Still I wait... 🎵

Some came to visit, from Vienna, the Sportclub…
Even boys too young to have seen me play.
They remembered.
But not Slovan.
I gave them my last match. They gave me nothing.
Still —
I smiled.
Because the game gave me more than it took.
Most days.

My right leg walks. My left hand won’t.
But my eyes still scan the pitch, still count.
The war came late, the bombs came loud,
And I sat through it all, proud in the crowd.

🎵 Over the lines, through wind and rain,
First from the mainland, crossing the lane.
The football legionnaire, blazing the way,
But glory fades — and skies turn gray.
They cheered my name, they wrote it in gold,
Now I grow quiet, now I grow old.
Still I breathe, still I burn,
Still I wait for one return...
Still I wait... 🎵

When winter came, it took its toll,
No fire, no food, no healing soul.
He sat alone in war-torn stone,
A king without a crown, a house, a throne.
On January’s twenty-third, the silence won —
And Karl went out like a setting sun.
Not with thunder, not with light,
But like a keeper in the fading night.

🎵 Still I breathe, still I burn,
Still I wait for one return...
Still I wait... 🎵

Karl Pekarna (Deep House)

Ever wondered what your week would look like if it quit its job, moved to the coast, and started a shoegaze side project?
Turns out, Monday through Sunday have been living rent-free in a VHS tape since 1987, scoring their own soft-focus life documentary.

This is Chillwave at its most gloriously unnecessary:
🌊 Synths so warped you’ll think your speakers are melting
📷 Melodies that sound like they belong to memories you swear you had, but probably didn’t
🍹 The audio equivalent of sipping a piña colada while staring moodily at a postcard

It’s not just music — it’s a time capsule you never actually buried.
Press play, lean back, and watch your responsibilities dissolve like a Polaroid in the sun.
Side effects may include: buying a vintage windbreaker, talking about “vibes” too much, and sending postcards to people who live in the same city as you.

Lyrics:

Monday drifts in with a shadowed face
Hands in his pockets, moving at a fragile pace
He hums a song no one remembers well
Something between a greeting and a farewell

Tuesday writes letters she’ll never send
Leaves them in drawers, knowing how they’ll end
Her smile is pale, like the early rain
She wears the quiet, she wears the strain

🎶 Lalala la la laaaalaaaa
Lalala la lalalalalalala
Lalala la la laaaalaaaa
La lalalalalalala 🎶

Wednesday’s a bridge half-lost in the mist
Carrying dreams that barely exist
He leans on the rail, staring at the tide
Counting the waves as they slip and hide

Thursday is lonely, but she hides it well
She speaks of tomorrow like a fragile spell
Her eyes are glass, but the cracks don’t show
She’s the promise of warmth in a world of snow

🎶 Lalala la la laaaalaaaa
Lalala la lalalalalalala
Lalala la la laaaalaaaa
La lalalalalalala 🎶

Friday wears perfume like a faded flame
She dances alone, whispering someone’s name
Her laughter’s soft, but it slips away
Like the end of a song you wanted to stay

Saturday sighs under silver skies
Her joy is a ghost in her half-closed eyes
She sleeps through the sun, wakes for the moon
Knowing both will be gone too soon

Sunday’s a blanket, frayed at the seams
Holding you close inside her dreams
She hums a tune you almost recall
Before Monday returns to take it all

🎶 Lalala la la laaaalaaaa
Lalala la lalalalalalala
Lalala la la laaaalaaaa
La lalalalalalala 🎶

Seven slow ghosts, walking in a line
Each with their shadow, each with their sign
Days pass like whispers, soft and undone
Until all the weeks blur into one

From Monday to Sunday (Chillwave)

☀️ Sun-baked miles, Polaroid skies, and the soft collapse into night.

A hazy, lo-fi dream for when your skin still carries the heat of the day and your mind floats somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. Tape-warbled synths sway like distant waves, mellow bass hums under the surface, and retro drum machine ticks trace the slow heartbeat of summer turning into night.

Reverb-drenched vocals drift through the haze, telling a story of dust washing away under cool water, legs sinking into cotton, and the quiet pride of a journey finished. It’s the sound of lying still, fresh and bare, breathing slow — while the day finally lets go.

🎧 For late-night window breezes, beach sunsets that feel endless, and memories that fade like old film.

Lyrics:

Sun in my eyes,
Miles on my skin.
Dust on my hands,
Heat deep within.

Cold water falling,
Dust runs away.
Legs sink in cotton,
Night takes the day.

Stretch in the quiet,
Breeze on my chest.
Proud of the distance,
Let the body rest.

Cold water falling,
Dust runs away.
Legs sink in cotton,
Night takes the day.

Fresh, bare, breathing slow…
Fresh, bare, breathing slow…
Eyes drift, miles fade,
Now I let it go.

Cold water falling,
Dust runs away.
Legs sink in cotton,
Night takes the day.

Cold Shower

A slow-burning night where strangers become something more.
Soft pads drift like smoke, lo-fi textures hum beneath the skin, and reverb-soaked male vocals breathe every moment into the air.
It’s the sound of a living room gone weightless, of laughter turning into whispers, of the quiet pause before leaning in. The world outside fades until there’s nothing left but shapes, shadows, heat, and breath.

Press play, let the glow wrap around you, and stay here until the morning light returns.

Lyrics:

We start as strangers in the glow
Friends on a sofa, TV low
Your laugh still lingers in my chest
But something’s pulling me the rest

I trace your shoulders in the dark
Neck, your chin, that gentle spark
Eyes meet, the air begins to bend
I lean in slow… we cross the end

And the night unfolds, skin on skin
Shapes and shadows, pulling in
Heat and breath, no need for words
Until the morning light returns

Buttons loosen, shirts fall free
My hands learn your geometry
Your mouth tastes sweeter every time
The room is gone — we blur the line

Two in one, the rhythm climbs
Moans like waves in midnight time
Every heartbeat, every sigh
We let it go, we don’t ask why

And the night unfolds, skin on skin
Shapes and shadows, pulling in
Heat and breath, no need for words
Until the morning light returns

Over and over, the world erased
Lost in the fire we’ve traced
And still we move, we never tire
’Til morning melts the night’s desire

Until the Morning Light

☀️ Drift into a summer morning dream.
This track blends hazy synth pads, lo-fi textures, and soft, laid-back beats with airy vocals that feel like sunlight pouring through open windows. It’s the sound of an endless highway where time disappears — carefree, cinematic, and timeless.

The lyrics echo that feeling of weightless escape: no yesterday, no tomorrow, just you, the car, and the wind. Perfect for sunrise drives, golden-hour reflections, or getting lost in the glow of nostalgia.

✨ Style: Chillwave / Dreamwave / Lo-fi Summer Drive
🌅 Mood: Warm, atmospheric, nostalgic, cinematic

Hit play, roll down the windows, and let the horizon take you.

Lyrics:

Empty road, the horizon wide
Windows down, nothing left to hide
Blue sky stretches, sunlight in my eyes
I let it go, no need for why

No yesterday, no tomorrow
No weight, no sorrow
Just me, just now
And the wind shows how

The wind in my hair, the sun on my skin
Only me, the car, the road I’m in
No thoughts, no time, no reason to stay
Just living the moment, I drift away 

The silence hums, engine like a song
The world slows down as I move along
Every mile a breath, every breath a light
I dissolve into the summer sky

No yesterday, no tomorrow
No weight, no sorrow
Just me, just now
And the wind shows how

The wind in my hair, the sun on my skin
Only me, the car, the road I’m in
No thoughts, no time, no reason to stay
Just living the moment, I drift away 

Ooh… just the road and me
Ooh… summer’s melody

Only me, the car, and the wind…
Only me, the car, and the wind…

Wind

Clownwave for the sleepless. A haze of synths and slow-motion beats float through a neon carnival where everyone’s smiling — mostly because they have to. Painted crowns, cotton candy that tastes suspiciously like battery acid, and laughter echoing just a little too long in the night. It’s dreamy, it’s pretty… and also deeply wrong, but in a way that makes you keep listening.

Lyrics:

Painted skies above the city glow
Red shoes marching, shadows in a row
Laughter echoes, but it feels unkind
Masks of joy, but fear behind

Ha… ha… ha… the crown is painted on
The circus goes on, the night goes on
Smile or disappear into the haze
The world’s a stage in a neon maze 🎶

Whispers vanish in the carousel
Every doubt’s a secret you can’t tell
Cotton candy tastes like rust
Dreams dissolve, but laugh we must

Ha… ha… ha… the crown is painted on
The circus goes on, the night goes on
Smile or disappear into the haze
The world’s a stage in a neon maze 🎶

Falling slow through colors unreal
Every truth just slips, surreal
Echoes fade, but rules remain
Painted joy to hide the pain

Clown nation…
Obey the crown…
The circus goes on…
The night goes on…

Clown Nation

every heartbeat has to be stamped, signed, and filed in triplicate before you’re allowed to dance. This track is what happens when Cupid outsources his job to a sweaty clerk in Rio, who insists you bring not just your passport but also proof of your kissing style, three notarized tears, and a meme of a pug.

Imagine filling out Form B-13 only to discover it comes with a built-in rhythm section: congas that gossip louder than your aunt at a wedding, trumpets that argue with your feet, and a groove that won’t stop until every box is ticked.

This is samba bureaucracy at its finest — paperwork meets percussion, romance meets rubber stamp. Put on your dancing shoes, grab your stapler, and let the beat file itself straight into your bloodstream.

Filed for love. Denied for balance. Approved for dancing.

Lyrics:

Filed the form, he wore cologne
Typed his heart on a monochrome
Box five blinked, "Have you felt before?"
He typed, "Yeah, maybe once, not sure"
Passport thick, a moody frame
Backwards glue, he blamed the name
They asked for proof of kissing style
He sent a selfie, took a while

The clerk said, "Filed, your vibe's too great"
Section nine gave you away
He rewrote tales of passion bright
Auto-correct dimmed down the night

The memo said, "Bring joy, not dread"
He showed a meme of a pug instead
They asked for love, deep in the beat
Form B-13 got dancing feet
I once had butterflies in spring
Now I just hum and never cling

Filed for love with mild caffeine
Submitted dreams in a dotted screen
They said my hugs were out of sync
I swayed too wide, I didn't blink

They wanted tears, fresh, full of flair
He sent some drops caught in his hair
"No return" was strict demand
Tears must sparkle, fall on hand
My friend said, "Bro, just fake delight"
He danced in socks under disco light
But still they stamped, "Not quite okay"
Filed as love in the lost display

Form C-3 from pigeon corp
"Do you deserve a warm report?"
He checked, "Maybe", spilled his tea
The box got wet, "Oh, yes, for me"
They asked for love, checked all the marks
But they found gaps between the sparks
I bubble-wrapped my heart with care
They said, "Too fragile, unaware"

Filed for love and danced too late
Now Cupid works for Section 8
I passed the rhythm, missed the flame
They stamped my joy with someone's name

Love delayed

Filed for Love (Samba Version)

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!