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The winter night begins to longer grow,
And happy days are fewer from that day.
The winter night begins to longer grow,
And happy days are fewer from that day.
What’s left for us is memory for good,
Partings, meetings, failures, and delight…
The years like moonlight shimmer in our hair,
And storms will leave their traces, pale and light.
The years like moonlight shimmer in our hair,
And storms will leave their traces, pale and light.
And those who won’t return to us, forgive,
Will think of what has passed while on the road.
And take away with trains that onward live
The tale about the old and sleeping town’s abode.
And take away with trains that onward live
The tale about the old and sleeping town’s abode.
Prompt for SUNO AI
Male vocal that shifts from intimate spoken word to a clear, strong baritone, finally to a tired whisper, Dynamic, cinematic structure, Begins sparse: clean electric guitar, ambient pads, Verses are melodic and thoughtful, Choruses are drastically quieter, delivered as a breathy whisper with long reverb, creating extreme dynamic contrast, Between sections, powerful instrumental crescendos build with drums, strings (cello, violin), and distorted guitars in a post-rock style, A chaotic noise collage breakdown in the middle uses train sounds and radio static, The outro returns to a melancholic, sparse arrangement, The overall mood is elegiac, melancholic, and grand, exploring themes of departure and memory.
Nothing Is Written
Nothing’s written, you and me.
The winter day will end, you’ll see.
It’s like a bird held in the hand.
Do you understand?
A fleeting moment, soft and brief,
A mix of joy and gentle grief.
The dusk will softly settle down.
The lights will flicker on in town.
A fleeting moment, soft and brief,
A mix of joy and gentle grief.
The dusk will softly settle down.
The lights will flicker on in town.
You won’t find peace in New Year’s wine.
The world gets worse, a steep decline.
Your greetings will not reach my door.
Not anymore.
The simple truth is hard to face
In this cold and hurried place.
Just bitter ash from letters penned.
Will drown in «Champagne» in the end.
The simple truth is hard to face
In this cold and hurried place.
Just bitter ash from letters penned.
Will drown in «Champagne» in the end.
The moon will print the frosty lace.
On the window pane, our space.
Nothing’s thought up for us two.
Me and you.
Our shadows merge from candlelight.
It makes the trembling shadows bright.
I read the future in the weave,
The pattern on your delicate thin sleeve.
Our shadows merge from candlelight.
It makes the trembling shadows bright.
I read the future in the weave,
The pattern on your delicate thin sleeve.
Nothing’s written, you and me.
The winter day will end, you’ll see.
It’s like a bird held in the hand.
Do you understand?
A fleeting moment, soft and brief,
A mix of joy and gentle grief.
The dusk will softly settle down.
The lights will flicker on in town.
A fleeting moment, soft and brief,
A mix of joy and gentle grief.
The dusk will softly settle down.
The lights will flicker on in town.
Nothing’s written… you and me…
Prompt for SUNO AI
Sad jazz with anguish about loss and loneliness, saxophone, piano, acoustic guitar, male and female voices, the first verse is a male voice, the second verse is a female voice, the third verse is a male voice, the fourth verse is a female voice, the choruses are performed by a duet.
Calendar
It’s easy to get lost among the crowd,
To lose the clarity of faces, names, and dates,
Just leafing through a yellowed calendar,
And leave an inscription: «I’m forgot by all my mates.»
Just leafing through a yellowed calendar,
And leave an inscription: «I’m forgot by all my mates.»
To paste the stamps and send a letter off,
To where I lived not very long ago.
And wait for answers, feeling in my soul,
That this, for some strange reason, matters so.
And wait for answers, feeling in my soul,
That this, for some strange reason, matters so.
But to get lost inside the human void,
To not believe in her you once believed.
To wait for miracles with coming spring,
And smile at no one, taking your own leave.
To wait for miracles with coming spring,
And smile at no one, taking your own leave.
Our nostalgia has a thousand different shades,
And often it’s the past that seals our fate.
I will not know just what I’ll miss the most
If I just say: «It doesn’t work that way.»
I will not know just what I’ll miss the most
If I just say: «It doesn’t work that way.»
It’s easy to get lost… among the crowd…
To lose the clarity… of faces, names…
And to get lost… inside the human void…
To not believe… her…
And often… the past… it seals our fate…
Prompt for SUNO AI
Deep, whispered, intimate male baritone vocal, close-mic’d and breathy, The arrangement is minimalist and textural: centered around sparse, fingerpicked acoustic guitar that also provides subtle body percussion (tapping, knocking), A mournful cello line appears in the interludes, The song builds a melancholic atmosphere with ambient background pads, The structure is linear and melancholic, culminating in a stark breakdown where the vocals layer and collapse into dissonant whispers before fading into a silent, atmospheric outro with a faint, distorted clock tick, The overall feel is cinematic, deeply sad, and introspective, [Slowcore], [Alternative Folk], [Male Baritone Vocals], [Whispered Singing], [Acoustic Guitar], [Minimalist], [Ambient], [Cello], [Body Percussion], [Cinematic], [Melancholic], [Sadcore], [Lo-fi], [Atmospheric], [Emotional]
I Have No One to Tell About Her
I’ve nobody to tell about her face
No one to trust with this consuming fire
This blaze of colors in a frantic race
That pulls me through each mad and vain desire
O, Silence! Silence is the poet’s art!
The keeper of the secret, foolish heart!
It thrusts me upwards through each ragged fall
And in the blinding dark, shows light to all!
I wish that someone knew — a stolen look
Our meetings, rare and trembling, and how then
I’d hold her shoulders in a secret nook
And whisper her name, once and once again
O, Silence! Silence is my coffin shell!
It swallows every question, every yell!
It thrusts me upwards, to the cracking dome
So I alone can hear this ringing home!
Would someone share this sadness… share the ache…
And be a grateful witness, for trust’s sake…
To wrap the tale in a departing seal…
A wafer for the souls that distance steals…
Silence… Silence is the poet’s craft!
The finest keeper of this passionate draft!
It pushes higher, spite of every tear!
And in the pitch-black night, lets light appear!
Pushes higher… spite of every tear…
And in the pitch-black night… lets light appear…
I’ve nobody… NOBODY… to tell…
Silence… poet… CRAFT!
Prompt for SUNO AI
Deep, smoky, theatrical male baritone voice, Complex structure blending ballad and avant-garde, Begins as a slow 5/4 jazz ballad with double bass and melancholic saxophone, Choruses shift dramatically to intense 4/4 marches, Features a spoken word bridge, Climactic third verse builds into a chaotic free-jazz breakdown with layered, distorted vocals, Ends with a melancholic instrumental outro, Dark, cinematic, emotionally volatile journey from restraint to collapse, [Dark Jazz], [Jazz Fusion], [Male Baritone Vocals], [Odd Time Signature], [Double Bass], [Saxophone Solo], [Spoken Word], [Avant-Garde Breakdown], [Cinematic], [Theatrical], [Emotional Journey], [Complex Structure]
The crystal ship
Through open doors, a crystal ship they bear,
Carried on the arms of servants, swift with care.
And in these strange days, an unknown soldier sighs,
Sings the march of parting, sings the song of goodbyes.
And in these strange days, an unknown soldier sighs,
Sings the march of parting, sings the song of goodbyes.
From the city of angels, the woman of dreams
Dances the sinister dances of shamanic schemes.
A squad from Spain perishes in the snow,
Burning the remnants of their caravan’s glow.
A squad from Spain perishes in the snow,
Burning the remnants of their caravan’s glow.
And there’s no need to beat the horses in the eyes,
We cannot make them either sleep or cry.
And the quiet parade of my wild, desperate love,
Like five to one odds — is all for the fall, thereof.
And the quiet parade of my wild, desperate love,
Like five to one odds — is all for the fall, thereof.
And summer has almost vanished from our sight,
Around are only strange ones — strange folk, day and night.
And from the streets of love, we hear their footsteps near.
And I already know — they are our judges here.
And from the streets of love, we hear their footsteps near.
And I already know — they are our judges here.
Paris — city of dead poets, it waits
For me, with all my thirst and eternal fates.
And several lives, all passed within a dream,
Erase the meaning of the phrase: «I love you,» so it seems.
And several lives, all passed within a dream,
Erase the meaning of the phrase: «I love you,» so it seems.
I’m here. I strive towards your castles and your lions,
I’d give my soul for just a sip of your faith’s reliance.
Take my songs, don’t let me leave this place!
And someone uttered: «Slam the doors shut! Shut this case!»
Take my songs, don’t let me leave this place!
And someone uttered: «Slam the doors shut! Shut this!»
Prompt for SUNO AI
A surreal, atmospheric jazz-noir ballad descending into apocalyptic noise, The core features a cold, detached male baritone vocal, a melancholic and dissonant tenor saxophone, a high, eerie flute, a detuned piano playing sparse clusters, and a plucked double bass, The song oscillates between moments of tense, slow-burning jazz and disruptive sections of electronic noise, glitches, and instrumental chaos, The mood is elegant yet deeply unsettling, portraying a world and a psyche coming apart through a lens of dark, avant-garde jazz.
This Woman
I’ll soon stop caring, or so I claim,
That this woman just plays her little game,
That she’s bored, stares out into the garden, mute, and fades (fades)
Like a minty snowflake on my lips, in shades.
That she’s bored, stares out into the garden, mute, and fades (fades)
Like a minty snowflake on my lips, in shades.
And in the silvery September light,
All calls to reason are a pointless fight.
She’s still lethally dangerous to me, a threat (a threat)
That wave of her hair down to her shoulders, wet.
She’s still lethally dangerous to me, a threat (a threat)
That wave of her hair down to her shoulders, wet.
As long as I still want to sit and stare
At patterns on her old wallpaper, there,
In autumn’s gloom, the headlights come and pass (they pass),
I wait, I hope that she will sing at last.
In autumn’s gloom, the headlights come and pass (they pass),
I wait, I hope that she will sing at last.
The groan of piano keys, that somber sound,
I won’t forget, but to her, it’s not bound.
Only at night her wild grief will cease (will cease)
Within the helplessness of our speech’s peace.
Only at night her wild grief will cease (will cease)
Within the helplessness of our speech’s peace.
But when will I stop caring, tell me when,
That this woman just plays her game again,
Doesn’t believe, doesn’t call, doesn’t meet (doesn’t meet)
With a light smile upon her lips so sweet?
Doesn’t believe, doesn’t call, doesn’t meet (doesn’t meet)
With a light smile upon her lips so sweet?
I will NEVER stop caring, no, not at all,
That this woman…
just plays her game…
and like a snowflake… fades…
Prompt for SUNO AI
A passionate, melancholic Russian «blatnoy romans» or jazz-ballad in the style of Alexander Rosenbaum, The core is a raw, gravelly, and deeply emotional male baritone voice, accompanied by a virtuosic seven-string guitar, The arrangement is enriched with a warm grand piano playing blues-tinged chords, a walking double bass, soft brushed jazz drums, and a soulful, mournful tenor saxophone that provides emotional counterpoints, The song builds from an intimate confession to a dramatic, smoky cabaret climax before fading into a resigned, whispered outro, The mood is deeply nostalgic, painfully romantic, and full of fatalistic passion.
Dance!
It’s been the way in Rus since ancient days —
March is not a spring of crimson rays,
August is not a summer, scorching hot,
And not a cornucopia we’ve got.
It is Pandora’s little box, instead,
With patterns, scratches, symbols, painted threads,
With witchcraft mutters, half-forgotten lore,
Half-erased, half-worn down to the core.
We open it, poor wretches, year by year,
To our own doom, as did our ancestors.
We open to the dance of the swan-bird,
To the blue-teared princess, every word.
If she waves her sleeve to the right —
A distant province howls in endless night.
If she starts to dance towards the left —
The widows and the orphans are bereft.
Dance!
Prance!
Wave your sleeve!
Wave your sleeve!
Everything around you, make it leave!
Shatter it to pieces! Make it grieve!
That princess, our dear lady, lost her love,
Her Ivan vanished, like a hand in glove.
He vanished in a foreign, distant land,
No gallant hero, but a leaf, unmanned.
His bones were scattered through the gullies near
By wolves and foxes, filled with ancient fear.
His heart was pecked by crows of iron-black,
That from the heavens to the earth came back.
Her soul still waits for Vanya’s letter, frail,
Through endless night, her eyelids never pale.
She prays to God, weaves shrouds without a sound,
Takes whispered spells from madwomen around.
She dreams and thinks her darling is alive,
Snoring on a carpet, like a kalifh,
Green wine is bubbling in his cup so deep,
Forbidden to remember her in sleep.
Dance!
Prance!
Brandish your sabre!
Brandish your sabre!
Make the women’s heads begin to waver!
Send their senses reeling! Show no favor!
And from the box, the patterned, wicked chest,
They drag a wonder to the world’s behest:
A self-laid tablecloth of finest lace,
From foreign silk, to cover all disgrace.
They’ll drink and revel for a day and night,
For day and night make gusli strings snap tight.
For some — it’s woe and ruin, mother’s pain,
For some — small pearls, for some — the water’s vain.
At the table’s head, our sovereign king
Drinks in the flattering toasts they bring.
And in his caftan, a red ticket lies,
To Ipatiev House, where darkness lies.
Into his left ear, a foul-mouthed minister
Hums false denunciations, sinister.
Into his right ear, Subutai the bold
Hisses fables of a power to hold.
Dance!
Prance!
Chug the wine and beer!
Chug the wine and beer!
Send your armies marching, full of fear!
Towards Kursk, let the battle lines draw near!
And from that casket, they also take
A flying carpet, plush, for heaven’s sake,
To shuttle shameless girls on public funds
For shopping sprees in far and foreign lands,
In lands of foes, where enemies reside,
In secret from their wives, with nothing to hide.
And for a long time now, the spacious earth,
The lands and rivers, have known their new birth —
Divided up by kennel masters, bleak.
The petty clerk, the deacon, strong and weak,
The thug, the kulak feel their power rise,
They mock the serfs before their very eyes,
The dark, the orphaned, and the poor in need.
They take seven hides to satisfy their greed,
The eighth they steal and in the banks they keep,
The ninth they’ll from the children’s futures reap,
And in the palace, with a nail, they’ll fix
That final skin upon the wall of bricks.
Whore around!
Spin!
Export the oil and gas!
Export the oil and gas!
Write the whores into the expense report’s mass!
Write them off! Let the whole damn world pass!
Prompt for SUNO AI
An aggressive, hypnotic, and theatrical Slavic folk-post punk metal anthem, Male vocal shifts between a rhythmic, narrative chant, a raw, shouted command in the choruses, and a hoarse, screaming rant, Core rhythm is driven by distorted folk instruments (balalaika/domra) and heavy tribal percussion, Features a sinister, droning accordion, electric guitar riffs, and chaotic sound design (tearing fabric, clashing metal, breaking glass), The song is structured as a suite with explosive, mantra-like choruses and a final collapse into noise, The mood is mythical, sarcastic, furious, and ritualistic, blending ancient folklore with modern political satire.
Heavenly Hussar
In army signal corps, a frantic staff call’s made.
The signalmen drop out, one by one, their final card is played.
They go to join the hussars of heaven, up above the fray,
Who haul from hell near Volchansk and Chasiv Yar’s bloody maw
The shoulder boards and brand-new stars for colonels at Headquarters.
On patched-up body armor, poppies bloom a crimson red!
Plantain «petals» stick to army boot soles, like the dead!
And a mosaic of letters is no sign of life, it’s clear!
And where is life now, not the madness waiting for news we fear?!
Late evening, a child’s sun, a little wheel, will downward roll,
Disturb guitar strings with its tail, a cat that flees, a soul,
Slipping to the past. Validol, a deck of cards, kings and aces, and the stooges,
On TV, bleat and spew their lies, and outside, loud and clear,
The ambulance is howling, and you want to block it all out, to shut down every sense.
On patched-up body armor, poppies bloom a crimson red!
Plantain «petals» stick to army boot soles, like the dead!
And a mosaic of letters is no sign of life, it’s clear!
And where is life now, not the madness waiting for news we fear?!
Lumps of clay will hit the boards like July, so deaf, so sore.
The stifling heat, the emptiness, you can’t shout to heaven’s door,
No strength or power reaches there. The heavenly hussars take five,
And count the ammunition they managed to keep alive.
A mobile phone, black as a raven, in a worn-out pouch lies still,
A silent, final testament to a long-overdue will.
On patched-up armor… poppies… crimson… red…
Plantain petals… stick… to boot soles… like the dead…
Mosaic of letters… no sign… of life…
Where is life now… just the madness… and the strife…
The heavenly hussars… are on their break…
And count the rounds… for heaven’s sake…
A mobile phone… black as a raven… in the dust…
A silent, final… metal… rust…
Prompt for SUNO AI
A tragic, intense, and pulsing military hard rock song in the style of classic Russian protest rock, Features a raw, strained, and emotionally explosive male baritone vocal, shifting from talk-sung verses to shouting, desperate choruses, Instrumentation is built on a steady, marching drumbeat, a heavy and melodic distorted electric guitar riff, and a driving bassline, Includes a searing, mournful electric guitar solo, The song ends in a broken, exhausted collapse and a whispered outro, The mood is grim, angry, desperate, and deeply tragic, with a strong anti-war message.
Girl from a Star