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Mandry - « Український Військовий Забіг»

Ірина Мороз – Хвиля Думок (home)

Without Limits - Руки в руках

[slap bass] Кримський міст — Eyra (Odner rmx)

"Осінній сон" – пісня про тих, хто зараз не вдома, про тих, хто з теплотою в серці думає про своїх рідних, про коханих, про дітей, про найцінніше в своєму житті, про тих, хто холодними ночами десь в полях гріється спогадами про свій дім, про тих, хто мужньо захищає СВОЄ, про шлях, яким ми всі зараз йдемо і про нашу, українську осінь 2022.

Роялькіт

Роялькіт - Осінній сон (акустика)

Замордовані. Подзвін перший

Цвинтар душ (Василь Стус)

Для всiх

War is Coming

I wrote this song on a paper napkin in a bar, while waiting for the buyer of the 40 grams of gold that a friend had given me to sell, since she had to pay the hospital where she was admitted. She had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and only had days, maybe a couple of weeks, left to live. Two weeks after I wrote this song, she passed away in the company of her son.

This song is dedicated to Laura Linares. May she rest in peace.

I was sitting in a bar,
the minutes refused to move ahead,
I saw Verónica walk by,
in her skin-tight pants,
her tits and her bra all a disguise,
with the truth between her legs she never wished to hide.

With a coffee and a glass of soda,
sitting there watching people pass me by,
I thought I was the only strange one,
I didn't know there were so many of us.

The hours stood still as I waited there,
in that bar with 40 grams of gold,
it was golden and light, it looked like a can,
it was a favor for a sick friend,
she needed to pay the hospital where she was.

But forty grams could never pay,
for your health when you get the bad news,
that the cancer has spread its wings,
and all that's left is waiting for the end.
And these forty grams of fragile hope,
are weightless against the silence of a tear.
They can't cure the sound of that diagnosis,
or bring the color back to a fading face.
The gold it shines, but it lights up no darkness,
it only illuminates what you can no longer hold.

So many stories cross paths in this bar,
a mosaic of laughter and of sorrows.
A young mother, with a rage for life,
yells at her son for a dropped ice cream cone.
Further away, another with a teacher's patience,
explains the world with crumbs of medialuna.

And two lovers in a furious fight,
he swore eternal love, she showed him the door.
His hands were shaking just a bit too much,
her pride was cracking in her voice.
And me right here, with a treasure in my palm,
a silent witness to a crumbling soul.

And life, like a river from this window,
carries broken dreams and seeds of joy.
It's a fabric woven from golden and dark threads,
where death and an ice cream cone cross on the sidewalk.
And I, just a loose thread in this tapestry,
learned that value isn't weighed, it's felt within.

'Cause forty grams could never pay,
for your health when you get the bad news,
that the cancer has spread its wings,
and all that's left is waiting for the end.
And these forty grams of fragile hope,
are weightless against the silence of a tear.
They can't cure the sound of that diagnosis,
or bring the color back to a fading face.
The gold it shines, but it lights up no darkness,
it only illuminates what you can no longer hold.

Without Limits - Руки в руках

Without_Limits_Band

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