Neon by the Lake - Axora Productions | 80s‑Tinged Nostalgic Coming‑of‑Age Synth Ballad

Описание: 🎵 Neon by the Lake – by Axora Productions
Bittersweet, cinematic synths and a story of growing up by the water. Put on headphones and travel back with us.
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📌 About this track
”Neon by the Lake” is an synth ballad that looks back from the future— a group of friends and one shoreline tying it all together. Set in the late 80s / early 90s, it’s about the crew we thought we’d keep forever—and how their echoes still answer when the city gets quiet.
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📝 Lyrics
We were raincoats on Lake Shore, neon in the mist,
Marco flipped his cap backward, said, “Watch this.”
Blue Line roared at Damen/North, coins warm in our hands,
He ollied off the curb cut, sprayed our plans.
Walkman hiss, gray-water sky, our laughter on cassette,
He swore he’d skate to Venice Beach, hadn’t learned regret.
Now he texts me dawn-side photos from a loading dock on Cicero,
Barcode lights and careful boots—still carves the lots he knows.

We’d meet by the Music Box, half past ten,
Cheap soda, borrowed smoke,
Swore the clocks would break for us
If we never spoke.

We were thunder made of drum machines, fluorescent hearts untrained,
Took the long way home through puddles, let the city say our names.
All the nights we thought were endless turned to postcards in a frame—
I can hear them if I close my eyes: the shoreline, and your names.

Jess dyed her fringe cobalt, script notes up her sleeve,
At Metro on Clark on Tuesdays, taught us how to breathe.
Tagged the Belmont underpass: “Time is what we spend,”
Said she’d learn to fix what breaks, and start where nights would end.
She did—then left for Boston—winter wards and trains,
Writes about the night shift stars, and coffee for the pain.
I saw her once at Montrose Beach, the summer the pier lights died,
She smiled like a flare in fog, then folded with the tide.

We’d meet by the Music Box, half past ten,
Boots squeak, doors release,
If forever had an address,
It lived beneath those marquee lights of peace.

We were thunder made of drum machines, fluorescent hearts untrained,
Took the long way home through puddles, let the city say our names.
All the nights we thought were endless turned to postcards in a frame—
I can hear them if I close my eyes: the shoreline, and your names.

Tommy tuned cheap synths in basements off Milwaukee,
Built a kingdom out of presets, every night a key.
Played our prom with borrowed strobes, cables like a tide,
Said, “If the future wants us, it can catch our ride.”
He runs a tiny record shop near Six Corners in the square,
Sleeves like paper windows, ghosts of feedback in the air.
When I drop by late on Sundays, he still cues the same refrain,
“Listen—hear that shimmer? That’s the summer in the rain.”

Eli had a comet laugh, keys on a shoelace chain,
Drew maps of places we hadn’t been—boxcars, towns, and train.
We carved initials in a bench where Lincoln willows fall;
I bring a flower every June and read them to the wall.

We were thunder made of drum machines; we swore the night would stay.
Now the streetlights count our footsteps as we drift our separate ways.
All the nights we thought were endless learned to whisper, not to blame—
In the hush between the trains, I still answer to your names.

By the lake after closing, ripples hold the stars,
I hum the old progression, let it meet the passing cars.
If the past is just an echo, let it echo soft and plain—
Neon boys and girls forever, humming summer in the rain.
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Our music is created with the assistance of AI tools guided by the creative direction of Axora Productions.

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