dZb 620 - undr.sn - You Get What You Give (Original Mix).

Taking time to meditate and glimpse into view spirituality ￼

Spirit of

This is a new song.  Still experimenting with the Folk/Rhythm/Blues idea.  I think this one is much closer.

This song is not about any family in particular.  It's a tableau of several of them -- a montage that creates a "State of things" kind of message.

This will be the beginning of a new project.  I want to go back to the roots of music.  Music used to be a performance art -- a kind of theatre, and now it's more of a production comprised of cookie-cutter songs, and most of the titles are about how mad someone is at someone or something, sex, or how sad a person is, or how wonderful the speaker is.  The art can be much more impactful.  

I want to explore deeper stuff.  Real people stuff.  The human experience.

I have a variety of ideas for the stories I want to show.  Some of them will be. . . .  Well, pull up a chair.  

The music will be as simple or as complex as it needs to be.  The songs will be story-driven and vocal-based.  Expect dramatic monologues, and third person meditations on a persona.  All of it will be about emotion and performance rather than stealing the most popular beat right now and overcooking the autotune.

There's a reason folk songs like "Greensleeves," "Lord Rendall," and many others are still around after hundreds of years.  I want to find a way to do that.

Lyrics:

Six years old. He goes to school
where they say his friends are
better than he is.
They’re smarter than he is.

At the doctor’s office, he hears
that his mind’s divergent.
Never quite fit in.
Never will fit in.

When at home he sees his brother.
The parents dote on him,
but never notice him.

And all he really wants is to normal.
No one loves a snowflake.

Big brother focuses on school,
Because he’s not a boy.
He’s different than his friends;
There’s something wrong with him.

At home, he must avoid his father;
Daddy don’t like queers.
Divergent and he’s damned.
A scourge upon the land.

Mom just thinks he should just stay quiet.
It’s all just a phase.
Just be somebody else.
Whitewash so they can’t tell.

And all he really wants is to be normal.
No one loves a snowflake.

Sitting at the dinner table
“Can someone pass the salt?”
But they don’t hear because they’re 
Surfing through their cell phones.

“Can someone see me please?”
But they won’t leave their heads
long enough to see
they’re burning down their family.

The dog lays his head on the floor
He just wants a plate 
And a spot among his people
At the table.

And here I sit beside you all alone.
Lost inside these struggles of my own.
And no one sees the snowflake.

The Snowflake

Passenger 97

Part I: The Rhythm of the Road

The bus rumbled along the midnight highway, its tires humming a techno beat against the asphalt. Inside, the air was thick with anticipation. Passengers huddled in their seats, lost in their private soundscapes—their headphones cocooning them from the world.

And then there was him: Jack “Steel” Donovan, a man carved from shadows and silence. His denim jacket clung to his broad shoulders, and his eyes, sharp as broken glass, scanned the dimly lit interior. Jack was no ordinary traveller. He was a legend—a renegade DJ who spun beats like spells, conjuring euphoria from the ether.

But tonight, he wasn’t here for the music. He was here for something else—an elusive frequency that pulsed through the veins of the city. The kind of rhythm that made hearts race and souls ache.

As the bus hurtled forward, Jack leaned back, ignoring the person sat  next to him. His fingers drummed an invisible beat on the cracked window. The other passengers stole glances, wondering who this enigmatic stranger was. They sensed danger in his stillness, a storm brewing beneath his skin.

Part II: The Silent Symphony

The bus stopped at a desolate station, and a new passenger boarded. She was different—Lena, with eyes like shattered vinyl records and a secret melody hidden in her smile. She slid into the seat across from Jack, her headphones dangling around her neck.

“Going far?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

Jack smirked. “Far enough.”

Lena’s playlist spilled into the air—a haunting mix of forgotten tracks and lost dreams by an Artist time had forgotten called Robert Phoenix. Jack listened, his pulse syncing with the bassline. He wondered if she held the key to the elusive frequency—the one that could change everything.

As the bus wound through neon-lit streets, Jack and Lena exchanged stories without words. She spoke of broken nights and fractured love, while he revealed nothing. Yet, in the silence between their beats, they understood each other. They were both passengers on a journey to redemption, chasing echoes of forgotten melodies.

Part III: The Final Drop

The bus reached its terminus—an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Jack stepped off, Lena following close behind. The air crackled with anticipation. The other passengers remained, lost in their headphones, oblivious to the unfolding drama.

Inside the warehouse, neon lights painted the walls, and the bass throbbed like a heartbeat. Jack took the stage, his turntables waiting. Lena stood at the edge of the crowd, her eyes locked on him. The crowd swayed, lost in the rhythm, but Jack had a different mission tonight.

He spun the records—the ones that held memories, secrets, and the elusive frequency. The beat intensified, and Lena stepped forward, her headphones now wrapped around her wrists like handcuffs.

“Find it,” she mouthed.

And Jack did. The final drop—the one that shattered reality and birthed a new universe. The crowd erupted, but Jack’s eyes never left Lena’s. Together, they rode the sonic wave, transcending time and space.

As the music faded, Lena leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “Passenger 97,” she whispered. “We’ve arrived.”

And in that moment, Jack knew—he wasn’t just a DJ. He was a conductor, weaving souls together, creating magic from vinyl and starlight.

The legend of Passenger 97 echoed through the city, a beat that would haunt the night forever.

Note: The image above is an artistic representation of the single cover for “Passenger 97.” The real magic lies in the music.

Passenger 97

In the heart of the city, where the night throbs with bass and the air tastes of forbidden desires, there exists a clandestine nightclub—an aural sanctuary known only to those who crave the extraordinary. Its name? “Cocoa Beats”.

The single cover captures a moment frozen in time—a chocolate-infused frenzy. Three women, their eyes aglow with nocturnal hunger, stand before the DJ decks. Their attire is a paradox: leather and lace, sugar and spice. They are the night’s sirens, lured by the promise of rhythm and the scent of melting cocoa.

Lola, the Velvet Vixen: Her skin, bronzed and decadent, glistens under the club’s dim lights. Her leather corset hugs curves that defy gravity. But it’s her eyes—the color of molten chocolate—that hold the secret. She cradles a piece of the DJ deck, its edges softened by desire. Is it the music she devours, or something more primal?
Zara, the Cocoa Enchantress: Her cloak billows like a midnight storm. Its folds conceal ancient runes—the recipe for ecstasy. Her headphones, adorned with cacao pods, pulse with the rhythm of the universe. She bites into the chocolate deck, and the sound reverberates through her bones. Is it pleasure or pain? Perhaps both.
Nina, the Bittersweet Muse: Her skin bears inked constellations—a map of forgotten realms. Her lips, stained with cocoa dust, whisper forgotten lyrics. She clings to the deck’s edge, teeth sinking into the chocolate. Each bite releases memories: stolen kisses, moonlit escapades, and the taste of forbidden love.
Behind them, the DJ booth stands like an altar—an offering to the night. The decks, sculpted from pure Belgian dark chocolate, melt under their touch. The bassline, a primal pulse, weaves spells. The moon, a voyeur, casts its silver glow upon this unholy communion.

And the music? It’s drum and bass, but not as you know it. It’s the rhythm of cocoa pods splitting open, the beat of hearts racing toward oblivion. The crowd, lost in the trance, sways like cacao trees in a tropical storm.

As dawn approaches, the women merge—flesh and confection. Their eyes meet, pupils dilated, souls entwined. They are more than partygoers; they are chocolate alchemists, transmuting sound into sensation, rhythm into rapture.

And so, “Sweet Treat Chocolate” becomes more than a tune—it’s a cocoa-fueled ritual. The night will remember their hunger, their decadence. And when the sun rises, the women will vanish, leaving behind only the echo of their laughter and the scent of melting chocolate.

Note: “Sweet Treat Chocolate” isn’t just a track; it’s an invitation to lose yourself, to taste the forbidden, and to dance until dawn. 🍫🎶

Sweet Treat Chocolate

Loops Sampler

Messed up love all I know bury them while they are alive and walk away

Cry for us

Toxicity️ 🔪

DJ UG - Redline

Rave Love (Mastered)

not really sure, i was just depressed asf making this song hope y'all like it though

Toxicity️ 🔪

Blade$

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