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La Vie des Hommes à Temps de Réalité 2 by Rodrick

SongGPT
La Vie des Hommes à Temps de Réalité 2 by Rodrick - World Music music cover art

La Vie des Hommes à Temps de Réalité 2

World Music

0:003:02
Lyrics
Description
[Verse 1]
Under the weight of cracked sidewalks, shadows stretch long and thin,
Yha Rodrick walks with tired steps, the scars beneath his skin.
Son of Muyenga, born from dust, where mornings greet with silent fights,
Days bleed like ink on weathered pages, scribbled truths in neon nights.
[Pre-Chorus]
Coffee cools beside the window, unopened letters on the floor,
Every breath a little colder, but he’s still knocking on that door.
[Chorus]
In the grind, we hold our ground, though the ground is breaking down,
Men like rivers cut through stone, wearing truth into the bone.
No need for soft illusions here—just the grit that keeps us near,
La vie des hommes, heavy hands, still they rise and still they stand.
[Verse 2]
The market’s hum wraps around him like a threadbare shawl at dusk,
Faces pass like fleeting storms, each carrying their own husk.
Rodrick’s eyes meet tired skies, heartbeat knocking in the frame,
The city’s pulse — a stubborn fight — where nothing pauses, nothing tames.
[Pre-Chorus]
Messages scattered on the counter, dreams locked inside a rusty chest,
His footsteps echo down the alley, searching always for the rest.
[Chorus]
In the grind, we hold our ground, though the ground is breaking down,
Men like rivers cut through stone, wearing truth into the bone.
No need for soft illusions here—just the grit that keeps us near,
La vie des hommes, heavy hands, still they rise and still they stand.
[Bridge]
There’s no glory in the silence, no silver lining in the rain,
Just the weight of every morning, carrying on through hurt and pain.
Rodrick knows the cost of hope, a currency paid out in strain,
Yet through cracks, a stubborn fire burns, a quiet roar beneath the rain.
[Chorus]
In the grind, we hold our ground, though the ground is breaking down,
Men like rivers cut through stone, wearing truth into the bone.
No need for soft illusions here—just the grit that keeps us near,
La vie des hommes, heavy hands, still they rise and still they stand.
[Outro]
So here’s to those who carry on, beneath the weight without a sound,
Yha Rodrick, son of dust, walking roads where strength is found.
No finish lines, no final bow, just the steps that lead us home,
In the pulse of faded streets, the heart of life in flesh and bone.
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