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Withered Roses
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A collaboration by Young Kim and Alex Kim/Greenleaf (no biological relation, just a common last name).
alternative trance progressive jungle rock techno hiphop modern acoustic piano rap new poprock progressive rock korean musical
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Artist picture
I write songs and produce music independantly. The style of my music ranges from alternative rock to hard rock that attempts to emphasizes melody, rhythm
Song Info
Charts
Peak #283
Peak in subgenre #143
Author
Lyrics: Young Kim; Music Production: Greenleaf
Rights
2005
Uploaded
December 15, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.3 MB 128 kbps 0:00
Story behind the song
A close friend and I got together in January of 2005 to write and produce this track. I (Greenleaf) made the beat about 6 months prior to meeting young in January, 2005. We met at Young's house in the middle of our busy school/work schedules to collaborate our musical ideas and focus them into this 2-minutes-and-33-seconds track. This track was experimental in that Young and I had little experience at the time in producing hip-hop tracks with rap and an accompanying beat. Young put the lyrics to this track together while listening to a demo CD that I gave him in the 4th quarter of 2004. That demo CD had a slightly different version of the beat you hear in this current version. Young and I had some deep and relatively breif discussions about how to illustrate vocal tone, vocal dynamics, and other expressive elements that make a hip-hop track sound good. In my opinion, Young did a great job in manifesting some of the ideas I shared with him. Hope it is enjoyed!
Lyrics
bouquets of roses wilt and dry on broken twine, openly accomponied by the deepest of regretful sighs, glassy eyes still hoping begging them to be a sign, of better times now so deep set inside the mind, petals aimlessly fall to the cracked wooden floor, trying desperately to hold onto the beauty they had before, watched through their descent by a pair of mirrors to a soul, memories lost forever as they were swept out the open door, doors closed, everyone knows, but she still tries to pose, tries not to show, the pain below, the heart that slows, pulling paint from the faded walls, searching for a way to cope, with the dust that settles around her while she sits alone, tarnished picture frames tell silent stories in whispers, of long ago wishes, and far away reminiscent kisses, aching to be heard feeling so so listless, wanting nothing more than sweeter thoughts as their mistress, so crooked in their display of last years yesterdays, nostalgia plays tricks on the soul, consistently, persistently making viewers believe there's something more than they see, behind the smiles and the snapshot breezes, all thats left are the strange eerie choirs that sing, hands to ears just to make the chanting come to an end, looking for the source, the only option is to start to spin, small circles, 'round and 'round back to the start again, no escape, time to face, all the pain, change the pace, quick to a better place, where the echoes don't chase, arms raised, all that's known has changed, drizzle to rain, bring out the shame, bring out the blame, bring out the blame, hand prints on frosted windows blur the view outside, cold to the touch, face pressed up, tryin' to decide, whether to stay or go as heaven changes its deep blue tone, into something a little more suiting, something a little more unknown, mirrors that refuse to show relections of any given affections, percieving it all as simple and naive misconceptions, and guesses, demanding those who look in pay their penance, just for their presence and a chance at deliverence
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