Echoes of Emotion
Dive into the haunting melodies and evocative lyrics of Moreaux, where intimacy meets cinema. Discover how their unique soundscapes tell stories of love, loss, and fleeting moments, inviting listeners into a world of emotional resonance.
Magic
A dreamlike ballad about finding wonder in the smallest, most unexpected details. A surreal reflection on how love shapes ordinary into extraordinary. If you’ve ever felt the magic hidden in late-night whispers, blurred city lights, or someone’s stormy eyes, this is for you.
I’ve found some magic in the ash-gray skin of a cheap hotel room in Downtown Berlin, 6:20 in the morning. I’ve found some magic in her storm-lit eyes, in her moonless hair stretching like an ocean that drowns my bedroom floor. I’ve found some magic, I can’t escape it. I’ve found some magic in her—I taste it. I’ve found some magic in the muted brass, a trumpet crying sideways as the early-black collapsed. I’ve found some magic in her fading legs dangling from my couch, like the night forgets. I’ve found some magic, I can’t erase it. I’ve found some magic in her— I chase it. I’ve found some magic… sometimes, I see it—a blade of moon begging at the window. Sometimes, on my bed, her head in my pillow. And nothing feels wrong as she whispers my name in the dark, and listens to this song.
Judith
Love and loss. On the battlefiled, through the chaos and the fear, she appears. Judith, burning through memory, burning through time. This is not a love song. Is a requiem. An eulogy for all those names we repeat so they don't vanish.
Don’t stop. Keep digging. You’ll find my love buried like a bone in the sand. Judith did nothing wrong, she just flew away in her own eyes so big to hold the sky, with the hiss of a neck kiss. Judith burning down my past. Judith burning down my days. Judith, say it loud. Judith set my world ablaze. Don’t stop. Keep digging. You’ll find our stolen time, the coldest mountain to climb. Judith did nothing wrong. She just left me with my ghosts, here, where they belong. Judith burning down my past. Judith burning down my days. Judith, say it loud. Judith saved me in many ways. Don’t stop. Keep digging. You’ll find those tapes to rewind where we play'd a dangerous play. Judith, you did nothin' wrong. You just got into my bones. You just got into my life humming a tune only for me and you, Judith. I’m walking alone. The nite gives to dawn. I'm looking at the sun slipping on the dewy road that'll find lovers in their messy beds. And Judith, too.
The Sky Keeps Raining
A fever dream of fireworks. Pearl, purple, silver, gold light up the night as the heavens crack and crumble. Celebration turns to chaos, beauty to fire raining down from the sky. But where is she now?
The time won’t bite, ’round midnight, hell in sight. The sky wants a fight. Stars rumble, heavens crumble, lights fall down, swirl through the ground. Flares drop rooftops, shadows on my window, thunder in my head. I can’t let go. Booms. Lightning. Half moon. Clockwork seconds draining. Booms. Lightning. Half moon. The sky keeps raining like the tears of a girl, the tears of my girl. The sky turns pearl, purple, silver, gold, madness whispers, never grows old. Centuries scream from the cracks in the wall, but euphoria never answers the call. Pictures burn, walls shake, echoes crawl inside me. A messy bed bleeds time, and history betrays me.
Booms. Lightning. Half moon. Clockwork seconds draining. Booms. Lightning. Half moon. The sky keeps raining like the tears of a girl, the tears of my girl. Four walls. Lost calls. I’m the fool king, crowned in nothing. Booms. Lightning. Half moon. Clockwork seconds draining. Booms. Lightning. Half moon. The sky keeps raining like the tears of a girl, the tears of my girl. Time’s bled. I’m not new. That’s my freedom. That’s my truth.
Small Red Lips
A fleeting kiss. A nickname for a nameless ghost of love. Desire that never belonged to us, and the scars left by what could never last. Shadows, whispers, lies in the dark. Every memory dissolves except the taste of sorrow pressed on the lips.
Small red lips. A stranger’s face. I don’t know your name, nor the time, nor the place. I don’t know if you care ‘bout the tears we can share. Small red lips, in the trembling night our shadows in the room are fresh paint in the gloom. A muttered promise like a spark, your voice blows lies in the dark. Small red lips, whisper slow of a love I once touched. Small red lips, of a life I let go. I don’t know who you are, don’t know if I remain, but I taste the old sorrow in the sound of your name. Small red lips pressing mine, a secret carved into time. Your name falls away like years yet your kiss still burns through the smoke and the tears. Small red lips, whisper slow of a love I once touched. Small red lips of a life I let go, I don’t know who you are, I don’t know if I remain, but I taste the old sorrow in the sound of your nam. Small Red Lips. I don’t know who you were. Small red lips, a ghost that I wear. Small red lips, I don’t know where you are, but you’re here like an old, old scar. Small red lips. Small. Red. Lips.
LOVE
In how many ways we break, hold, twist, or save love? Fragile yet indestructible. Like a lone astronaut fighting with failing systems. A metaphor for the impossible task of controlling love itself.
Ask it. Kiss it. Kill it. Tear it apart. Squeeze it in a hug. Smash it like a bug on the tiles of your bathroom. Throw it out. Trash it out. Let it bloom. Take it again. Leave it in the rain. Stare at it as it swirls down the drain. LOVE. Serve it on a silver tray, there’s no much to say. Feed it to the fish, burn it into the flame. Let the wind blow it away, it’ll break but not bend. Don’t let it run. It’ll never end even it seems it’s done. LOVE. Torture it. Gain it. Shake it—wooh wooh—Shake it hard. Win it back. Paint it black. Use it well, use it wrong. Take off its shoes. Claw it. Grasp it. Don’t let it go. Hold it in your arms, hang it in your house, play cat and mouse. Polish it brand new. Everyone can give it to you. LOVE. Dust it. Ball it up. Ask it. You’ll never know when it comes, but it comes. Everyone can give it to you. Drivers, murders, workers, thieves, plumbers, builders, the cook or the waiter at the bar at the corner. You’ll never know from whom it comes but it comes. Everyone can give it to you. And I gave it to you—It’s yours. And you can do whatever you want. And you can do whatever you want with my love.
Nothing (But Her)
A confession into a mirror. Everything dissolves, vanishes, except the gravity of one's presence. Nothing matters. Except.
There’s nothing worth seeing. There’s nothing worth keeping. There’s nothing worth saying, but her still sleeping. There’s nothing worth chasing. There’s nothing worth dreamin. There’s nothing worth holding, but her still sleeping There’s nothing worth writing. There’s nothing worth reading. There’s nothing worth hearing, but her still sleeping There’s nothing worth living. There’s nothing worth breathing. There’s nothing worth being, but her still sleeping. Next to me.
The Sky'll Fall
Inevitability— love, memory, and gravity itself can’t be escaped. The sky comes down, and the world keeps spinning.
I look at you, your head sinking low, shoulder, hair, the face, I know. I like the way you sit in my car—every fold, every line, like a scar. “The sky’ll fall,” you say. Your words drift, heavy and grey like the leaves in the air, like the rain in our hair, “The sky’ll fall,” you say. We should meet our hands, our lips, our souls, but I’m only driving you home. Slowly, as the black clouds crawl, behind the hills, over it all. “The sky’ll fall,” you say. Your words drift, heavy and grey like the leaves in the air, like the rain in our hair, “The sky’ll fall,” you say. The rain falls on streets and walls, on dogs barking, on mowed yards. I sit alone, staring at my ceiling while you’re carving dinner for other hands. “The sky’ll fall,” you say. And I wait for you to call. “The sky’ll fall,” you say. And I wait for you to call. The sky’ll fall. The sky’ll fall.
And I wait.
Bossanova
A story-song: a sweaty day, a lost lighter, a cab ride through Brazil streets, and a chance encounter that sparks like fate. A touch of saudade turns a small moment into something unforgettable.
I sweat America. Wake with a hangover, alone in a chair. Brazil is bleeding, the river’s receding through the Roots of Time, through the muggy air. I roll a cigarette, but my lighter’s gone, searching the office from dusk until dawn. No match for money, no match for love, just ceiling fans spinning lazy above. Bossanova in the night, longing burning soft and bright. Lost my flame, but found a song, sweaty day still drags along. The taxi arrives, but the driver won’t smoke, down Brazil streets, my silence a joke. At a red light I see her, a blonde in the rain, her match is a spark, my heart’s in the flame. Bossanova in the night, longing burning soft and bright. Found a light in stranger’s eyes, sweaty day, fate disguised. Anaconda eyes, crawling slow, down her neckline, shadows grow. Jazz recalls the soul of Getz, breathing out this fate’s caress. Bossanova in the night, longing burning soft and bright. With the woman, above the rain, fate repeating its refrain. Bossanova… Bossanova… On that sweaty day.
The Only Thing Left
Drifting between memory and regret, a quiet hymn for love that lingers, like Judy Garland’s shadow over the rainbow. Loss turned into melody—blue velvet, stray cats, and the ache of something that won’t fade.
She reminds me of Judy Garland humming Over the Rainbow. Wonder why she’s curtained the luck behind the window. Our hope scraps outgunned, blue velvet spread on regret—the only thing left. Sorrow keeps swinging, the phone isn't ringing. Time keeps digging like roots clawing at everything we detest—the only thing left. I stare a stray cat in the eye, finally whispering goodbye. Blue is a clashed lullaby bleeding into the last sunset—the only thing left. But she’ll always be near, she’ll always be her. She'll always be the one who reminds me of Garland, and she might be somewhere, over the rainbow
Love's Rough Copy
A late-night confession where broken promises echo through crowded yet empty streets. Every corner whispers a name you can't forget through the maze of your memories. If you ever wandered a city at 3 AM chasing ghosts of love, you'll find yourself here.
Please find me now, at the bottom of this city—a canvas painted grey—not a foggy Prague, nor a stuffy Bangkok, just the Left Bank of shame. Please call me now, in this labyrinth of dreams, in this maze of broken vows. I chase the ghost of your steps, every corner whispers your grace, your face, my regrets. I’m searching for a fountain to drink, a soft embrace, a vague tune to think. In shadows where the memories fell, love is just a rough copy of hell. And we knew it too well. Please meet me now, I dunno where, I dunno how. In this city that is not Venice, nor does it smell like Paris, just a draft of Hollywood on fire on a steep cliff above the sea. Please come to me now through the haze and the crowd, through all the tracks that we know. Each stride a line in the past, each turn like a heartbeat, but nothing seems to last. I’m searching for a fountain to drink, her fleeting touch, a vague tune to think. In shadows where the memories fell, love is just a rough copy of hell. And we knew it too well. I’m searching for a fountain to drink, an endless night, a vague tune to think. In shadows where the memories fell, love is just a rough copy of hell. And we knew it too well.
The Last Wave of the Sea
A meditation on endings. Love, memory, and time crashing in one final swell. It’s the closing breath where beauty and loss meet at the shore.
We bent the rules, we blurred the line, cut through the stream against the tide. Every kiss was almost war, every silence begged for more. Every promise turns to rust. Every shelter caves to dust, sinks in gentle smiles of clouds—corpses wrapped in floatin’ shrouds. When all is said and done our words melt in the sun and in the last wave of the sea. The last wave’s calling out our names, pulling us under. Nothing stays. We’re going under, you and me, to the last wave of the sea. The last wave of the sea.