THE ROOTED ONE
[Genre: Organic House / World Electro / Spoken Poetry Fusion] [Tempo: 120 BPM constant, tribal & warm] [Style: poetic, earthy, transcendent, spiritual] [Mood: awakening, sensuality, freedom, humility] [Instrumentation: organic percussion, bass groove, shakers, warm synth pads, deep toms, vocal choirs (mixed female/male), nylon guitar, flute, deep drones] [Vocal Style: alternance spoken word & soft singing (anglais/français/espagnol)] [Vocal Effect: natural reverb, delay soft, stereo depth, organic air] [Soundscape: birds, leaves, footsteps, subtle breathing, wind, chime bells, wooden sticks]
THE ROOTED ONE
[Genre: Organic House / World Electro / Spoken Poetry Fusion] [Tempo: 120 BPM constant, tribal & warm] [Style: poetic, earthy, transcendent, spiritual] [Mood: awakening, sensuality, freedom, humility] [Instrumentation: organic percussion, bass groove, shakers, warm synth pads, deep toms, vocal choirs (mixed female/male), nylon guitar, flute, deep drones] [Vocal Style: alternance spoken word & soft singing (anglais/français/espagnol)] [Vocal Effect: natural reverb, delay soft, stereo depth, organic air] [Soundscape: birds, leaves, footsteps, subtle breathing, wind, chime bells, wooden sticks]
Lyrics
I am the rooted one,
born between the hum of machines and the whisper of moss.
Je suis né dans le béton, mais mon cœur battait dans la terre.
Three roads crossed my skin: academic, ordinary, capitalistic.
But I walked out barefoot, under the rain of real things.
Et j’ai vu le vrai, pas le grand, pas le brillant, le vrai, celui qui respire.
Yo soy el raíz, la voz que crece bajo los pies.
Je touche le vent, et le vent me parle d’avant.
Dance, rooted soul, feel the pulse of the ground.
The world hums inside your bones, and your silence makes a sound.
He left illusions on the shelf — no gold, no fame, no show.
Only mud, breath, and the pollen between his toes.
Il n’est ni rebelle, ni soumis.
Anarchiste du cœur, avec des mains d’enfant.
He laughs, because he breathes.
Because he knows that every fall is a root, and every tear a seed.
Y cada lágrima, una semilla.
El Racineur baila, pieds nus en la lluvia, entre fuego y luna.
Chaque pas est une prière, cada palabra, una rivière.
Avec ses petites armes, ses petites mains, il construit un monde à hauteur d’homme.
He builds what he breathes — not walls, but warmth.
Rooted, rising, alive.
I bloom in dirt, I bloom in light.
Je parle à la pluie, tu m’écoutes la nuit.
Y la tierra canta conmigo.
I am the rooted one.
The earth breathes through me.
Et sous mes pieds, le monde recommence.