Richard, the Unremembered

Conscious Hip Hop, Hardcore Hip Hop, Pop Goa psytrance, Rap, Trap, Jazz Rap, Hip Hop, Raw emotion, Pop/Synth-Pop, Alternative Rock/Indie Rock, Atmospheric guitars, Epic, Power

They say he’s not a contestant.
Some swear he submitted something once—
but no one remembers when.

And maybe,
that is the point.

[Verse 1]
He brings no film.
No map. No sound.
Only a silence
that echoes underground,
like water forgotten in stone pipes,
like a breath withheld too long.

No data trail, no proof to trace—
Only the stillness of his face,
lit now and then
by the tired flicker of failing screens.

And yet…
we feel the file he never sent.
The one our memory somehow…
bent.

[Chorus]
He came to find what he forgot—
A name, a song, a voice once caught
in fractured glass and shadowed halls,
where nothing answers when memory calls.

[Verse 2]
Jo, the archivist, searches the system.
Richard’s name is there, typed once
in a hurried, half-faded hand.
No file.
No date.
Only a pulse in the machine—
a soft electrical heartbeat
no one dares to delete.

The light flickers.
The old projector stammers alive.
A man appears,
walking through a room of broken mirrors,
each shard a fragment of a self left behind.
A gunshot.
A lullaby still clinging to the dust.

[Bridge]
Emma stares—he feels like a dream half-remembered.
Carole looks longer—
as if recognizing something
that once had a name.

And Geneviève, small and unafraid,
hums the melody again—
the one no one remembers
but her.

[Chorus]
He came to find what he forgot—
A thread the past had left to rot.
A name unspoken. A life unwound.
A truth that fell without a sound.

[Outro]
Richard did not compete.
He endured.
He did not explain.
He allowed the forgotten things
to breathe through him.

And somewhere—
between a child’s hum and a broken machine—
the past…
moved again.

[Instrumental]

[Outro]
Richard did not compete.
He endured.
He did not explain.
He allowed the forgotten things
to breathe through him.

And somewhere—
between a child’s hum and a broken machine—
the past…
moved again.

2076/7500

[Intro] He does not present. He does not explain. Richard simply waits— in the circle where futures are woven and weighed, beneath trembling scaffolds of light, beside chairs still warm from forgotten dreams. They say he’s not a contestant. Some swear he submitted something once— but no one remembers when. And maybe, that is the point. [Verse 1] He brings no film. No map. No sound. Only a silence that echoes underground, like water forgotten in stone pipes, like a breath withheld too long. No data trail, no proof to trace— Only the stillness of his face, lit now and then by the tired flicker of failing screens. And yet… we feel the file he never sent. The one our memory somehow… bent. [Chorus] He came to find what he forgot— A name, a song, a voice once caught in fractured glass and shadowed halls, where nothing answers when memory calls. [Verse 2] Jo, the archivist, searches the system. Richard’s name is there, typed once in a hurried, half-faded hand. No file. No date. Only a pulse in the machine— a soft electrical heartbeat no one dares to delete. The light flickers. The old projector stammers alive. A man appears, walking through a room of broken mirrors, each shard a fragment of a self left behind. A gunshot. A lullaby still clinging to the dust. [Bridge] Emma stares—he feels like a dream half-remembered. Carole looks longer— as if recognizing something that once had a name. And Geneviève, small and unafraid, hums the melody again— the one no one remembers but her. [Chorus] He came to find what he forgot— A thread the past had left to rot. A name unspoken. A life unwound. A truth that fell without a sound. [Outro] Richard did not compete. He endured. He did not explain. He allowed the forgotten things to breathe through him. And somewhere— between a child’s hum and a broken machine— the past… moved again. [Instrumental] [Outro] Richard did not compete. He endured. He did not explain. He allowed the forgotten things to breathe through him. And somewhere— between a child’s hum and a broken machine— the past… moved again.

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