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80s vaporwave synthpop track reminiscent of the early days of sampling. This melancholy non-ballad sounds like Quiet Life era Japan, Seventeen Seconds era Cure, or This Mortal Coil. It's windshield wipers in the rain gloomy, yet somehow optimistic, with a longing sense of nostalgia. Keywords: Electric Youth synthwave electronica Depeche Mode Erasure Pet Shop Boys New Order controversial edge tame stodgy age Ensoniq Akai sampler drum machine retro ageless enduring epitome quintessential exemplary famous immortal juvenile notable paradigm paragon stabile standard timeless undying archetypal archetype classical deathless definitive legend legendary magnum opus masterpiece prototype model venerable time-honored audacity boldness bold bravado brazen defiant gallant insolent unafraid spirit reckless buzzing pulsing VHS Stranger Things Outrun analog digital square wave John Carpenter Tangerine Dream Kavinsky Giorgio Moroder Roland Juno Yamaha DX7 past tenor science computers yearning romanticism sentimental wishful thinking daydream daydreaming wistful wistfulness yearn yearning ennui pensive sadness somber rueful reverie musing modern contemporary current sullen wistful eager ready hopeful sanguine utopian rose-colored anticipant anticipating anticipatory expecting forewarned idealistic irrepressible waiting watching arpeggio bleep bloop chiptune
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80s vaporwave synthpop track reminiscent of the early days of sampling. This melancholy non-ballad sounds like Quiet Life era Japan, Seventeen Seconds era Cure, or This Mortal Coil. It's windshield wipers in the rain gloomy, yet somehow optimistic, with a longing sense of nostalgia. Male Vocals, Pop, Synthpop
Description:Classic, Pop Music, Synthpop, download stock music, independent music and flash music
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Lyrics:
I lose myself
In beautiful things
Does a butterfly die
If you tear off its wings?
It’s not jealousy
In the classical sense
I’m black and blue
Come tickle me pink
The memories smile
Lift me out of the drink
It’s not suffering
In the classical sense
The wildest extreme at seventeen
Now it’s a classic
Can’t blink out the dust in my eyes
I’m half alive
Marooned in traffic
These streets of old
I wander with you
With a hole in my heart
And a rock in my shoe
But I know the way
In the classical sense
In the factual sense
So dress me down
I’m going out of style
But you’re not coming with me
No not by a mile
You were pretty then
You’re beautiful now
You’re beautiful now
The wildest extreme at seventeen
Now it’s a classic
Can’t blink out the dust in my eyes
I’m half alive
Wrapped up in plastic
The throwaway scene at seventeen
Now it’s a classic
Old classmates name-dropping like flies
The facile lies
Bleeding nostalgic.