إِن رُوْحِي تُنَاجِيْهَا

وَأُذَكُرُوْنِي لَهَا بِكُل جَمِيْل  فَعَسَاهَا تَحِن عَسَاهَا

لمًا تلاقينا
عبدالرحمن محمد و مهاب عمر
ولكنني لما وجدتك راحلا بكيت دما حتى بللتُ به الثرى

و لكنني لما وجدتُكَ راحلًا بكيتُ دما حتى بللتُ بهَ الثرى

ولمّا بداَ لِي أنّها لآ تحبٌّنِي ... !!

بلّغوها إذا أتيتم حماها أنني مت في الغرام فداها

“They said the blues were six feet under. We’re still dancin’ on the dirt.”

Six Feet Above the Blues is a 15-track resurrection of grit, ghosts, and grit-your-teeth redemption. Born from rusted strings, roadside sermons, and moonshine confessions, this debut album blends Southern Gothic storytelling with boot-stomping energy and the haunted soul of outlaw folk.

Through swamp fog and shotgun sermons, you’ll meet:

A hollow-eyed preacher who barters salvation in shadows

A hellhound more loyal than any man

A banjo cursed with blood

And a narrator who swears “God Don’t Ride Shotgun”

Whether it’s the eerie waltz of “Rattlesnake Waltz,” the foot-stomping fury of “Train Don’t Stop for Sinners,” or the rowdy last call in “Ashes in the Ale,” this record walks the line between sin and salvation — and leans hard toward the former.

Fueled by banjo, bowed bass, gang vocals, and enough smoke to choke a saint, this is music for the outlaws, the almost-gone, and the ones who never stayed buried.

🪕 Come raise a glass with the damned — you’re only six feet above the blues, after all.
credits


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Lantern in the Fog

i cant say, i written any honest lyrics in my life
but this ones for you and all the horrors that you fight
i cant take it from you, but i can ease your drop
as u fall, and as i kindle, the only light u ever known
i cant take it back, but i can build with my time
ease the passage, with ever brick ill tile
this is not human, but something else
keep ringing those bells, as im taking all your pain into hell
dammit ill find it, the devil will chase
the tropes of our living, as hes hidin in wells
ill tell you, if you care to hear, i love all blessings
but ill fade into despair
i cant hold the river, with every fault that i hold
i cant find the river, i was lost, thats what im told
i cant hear her screaming, she is lost and so alone
but i can climb, mountains, as if i was the boulder to my role
i call out to them, i call out, let it roam
the sound ive search for, that sound so lone
the burden we´ll carry til the end of the road
i will find the worry, not so worrisome anymore
and ill find the fable, that we told, and was sure we would forget when we get old
but as the time goes
all those things comes with a trace
find  us with a grin as it running down from a weathered face
so fucked up within, i can hardly recognisce
but from that lake we will rise, but im digging my grave, and it will suffice..

وَأُذَكُرُوْنِي لَهَا بِكُل جَمِيْل فَعَسَاهَا تَحِن عَسَاهَا

Salman