The Bluesman | Dark Blues - Music

Описание: Poeira nas botas, ferrugem nas cordas e um encontro que mudou tudo. 🎸🌑 "The Bluesman" conta a história clássica e sombria de um músico que busca o sucesso, mas descobre que todo talento tem um preço quando negociado na encruzilhada.

Com uma sonoridade que remete aos clássicos do Delta Blues, essa faixa mergulha na atmosfera de bares enfumaçados, estradas de terra e o peso de um contrato de sete anos selado sob a luz da lua pálida. Uma narrativa sobre ambição, solidão e o "estranho" que aguarda nas sombras.

LETRA

Dust on my boots, rust on my strings This little town, it ain't heard what the raven sings They clap for the fiddles, the church choir's sweet sound But my lowdown moan just gets lost in the ground. Packed up my woes, left the dirt road behind Chased a city's cold glow, a different kind of bind.

Found a smoky corner, lights dim and low Whispered my sorrow, watched the lonely hearts flow My fingers were tired, the rhythm felt weak A stranger drew near, with eyes that could speak No words did he utter, just a nod and a gleam Took my worn-out guitar, like a fragment of a dream.

He touched the old wood, heard a note go astray Twisted the peg, chased the wrong tone away A shiver ran down me, cold as the night He leaned in close, bathed in pale moonlight.

"Seven years, son, till the river runs deep," His voice was a whisper, a secret to keep. "Seven years, boy, till the crossroads appear," Then the shadows would gather, and he would be near. My guitar it hummed, with a power unknown A pact made in silence, on a midnight stone.

Now the crowds start to listen, the coins start to fall My name's on the marquee, standin' proud and tall But that promise still echoes, a chill in my bones A ticking clock counting down, through cities and stones. Every chord that I strike, holds a heavy-set cost A piece of my soul, that I may have lost.

The notes now are sharper, the music takes hold A story unspoken, a future untold But when the clock ticks loud, and the moon starts to fade I wonder what price for the music I've paid.

"Seven years, son, till the river runs deep," His voice was a whisper, a secret to keep. "Seven years, boy, till the crossroads appear," Then the shadows would gather, and he would be near. My guitar it hummed, with a power unknown A pact made in silence, on a midnight stone.

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