Aged Delta

Hi! Welcome to my channel. All songs here are a collaboration between my subconscious, my conscious, and two types of AI. In short, they are dream songs. I've kept dream journals since 2002. I use ChatGPT to select the dreams and create genre prompts. I edit the lyrics and genres myself to get things right and I use Suno to make the songs. I've created about 20-30 songs per year of dream journaling. I'll slowly be adding them here. I hope you enjoy!

Lyrics:

[Intro: soft fingerpicked guitar, distant winter wind]

Snow piled in the corners
of a Speedway parking lot,
family leaning on two warm cars
like the world’s a little plot
we’ve all returned to.

[Verse 1: gentle, narrative]

Mayumi brushes frost from the window,
Maitri kicking at the salt below,
John cracks a joke with Dad and Mom,
suburban houses lined in rows.
An older neighbor waves me over—
I roll the window down to greet
the woman who knew us when we were younger,
whose smile still folds so sweet.

We drive, then I’m walking
past another quiet home,
tray of meat out on the snowbank
like a message left alone.
I try to signal to the owner—
thumbs up through the window glass—
but his face just knits confusion
as if the meaning didn’t pass.

[Chorus: warm harmonies swell]

And the world grows older softly,
in these towns where memories stay.
Snow keeps secrets from our childhood,
letting echoes lead the way.
Then an old dog steps from shadows,
with a moss-green coat of years—
and suddenly the past is present,
warmed by laughter, thawed by tears.

[Verse 2: brighter instrumentation, emotional lift]

Down some stairs behind the house,
still outside but tucked away,
John’s breath stops short—
"Is that Delta?"
And time folds in like paper clay.
He’s got a gray beard, moss on his shoulders,
eyes like lanterns burning low—
we count the years and whisper,
“Delta… thirty-four? Could that be so?”

He trots up slow and gentle,
like he remembers every game,
every summer in our mother’s yard
when we’d call him by his name.
Delta’s owner joins us smiling,
wrinkles shaped by decades shared—
“You boys were little terrors then—
I’m shocked your friend’s still here—and spared.”

[Chorus: fuller, glowing]

And the world grows older softly,
yet somehow circles back around.
In the snow, beside a railing,
childhood rises from the ground.
Delta’s fur is winter’s garden,
age and moss and something true—
a living relic of the days
when the world was small, and new.

[Bridge: quiet, reflective, almost whispered]

Maybe memory keeps them breathing
longer than the rules allow.
Maybe dogs don’t die in stories—
just grow lighter, older, somehow.

[Final Chorus: soft but triumphant]

And the world grows older softly,
but tonight it feels just right—
Delta standing in the snow glow,
turning winter into light.

We reminisce with gentle laughter,*
as the past walks up the stairs—
a dog too old for earthly measure,
but alive because he’s ours…
and there.

[Outro: soft guitar harmonics]

Snow drifts.
Delta blinks.
And time forgives us one more night.