🎵 Title: Racing Time

Style: emotional neo-soul / jazz ballad, slow tempo (≈72 BPM), warm Rhodes piano, soft fretless bass, subtle strings, airy female lead vocal with intimate close-mic, optional male backing harmonies in the last chorus. Mood: nostalgic, introspective, gently hopeful, like a late-night monologue remembering a lost love. Structure: intro – verse – pre-chorus – chorus – verse – pre-chorus – chorus – bridge – final chorus (with ad-libs). Lyrics in English, poetic but clear, about someone who keeps waiting for a love that cannot return, racing against time and trying to change, but always feeling “something is missing” to be truly happy. Keep lines short, singable, with clear rhyme and internal rhythm, suitable for a lyrical aria style performance.


🎵 Title: Racing Time

[Verse 1]
I try so hard to let you go,
to file my memories in a neat, cold row.
I search for order in this shattered light,
for one small spark from our forgotten night.

[Pre-Chorus]
I tell myself that I’ll be fine,
but every silence pulls me back in time.

[Chorus]
I keep on waiting, though I know it’s impossible,
for just a whisper, for a touch, for your voice in the dark.
I keep on waiting, with my heart so vulnerable,
for one living memory to reignite the spark.
I’m racing time, but time just passes through,
and I’m still here, still waiting for you.

[Verse 2]
I change the room, I change the streets I walk,
I drown the nights in work and empty talk.
I try new faces just to feel alive,
but something breaks each time I start to thrive.

[Pre-Chorus]
I tell myself I’ll learn to live,
yet something’s missing no one else can give.

[Chorus]
I keep on waiting, though I know it’s impossible,
for just a whisper, for a touch, for your voice in the dark.
I keep on waiting, with my heart so vulnerable,
for one living memory to reignite the spark.
I’m racing time, but time just passes through,
and I’m still here, still waiting for you.

[Bridge]
Maybe happiness is just a word I chase,
a shadow on the wall I cannot face.
I turn the pages, but the story stays the same,
I wear a different smile, but keep your name.

[Final Chorus]
I keep on waiting, though I know it’s impossible,
for just a whisper, for a touch, for your hand in mine.
I keep on waiting, with a heart irrevocable,
caught between the past and every broken sign.
I’m racing time, but time outruns me too,
and I’m still here…
still waiting for you…

Lalu Metev, February 18, 2026.


🎵 Надпревара с времето

[Куплет 1]
Напразно пак опитвам да забравя,
да подредя спомените в тих ред.
В сърцето ми утеха не остава,
от онзи огън търся жив знак.

[Пред-припев]
Казвам си, че всичко ще отмине,
а тишината връща същия ден.

[Припев]
И все очаквам, знам, че е невъзможно –
един шепот, тихо „тук съм“, твоя глас в нощта.
И все очаквам, с чувство неубоздано,
един жив спомен да запали светлина.
С времето тичам, а то минава в мен,
и пак съм тук, и чакам теб със всеки ден.

[Куплет 2]
Сменям лица, улици и стаи,
удавям нощите във празен шум.
А после пак към теб, без да усетя, май че
се връщам – все един и същ е сънят ми тук.

[Пред-припев]
Казвам си, че ще се науча
да бъда цял и без твоята сянка.

[Припев]
И все очаквам, знам, че е невъзможно –
един шепот, тихо „тук съм“, твоя глас в нощта.
И все очаквам, с чувство неубоздано,
един жив спомен да запали светлина.
С времето тичам, а то минава в мен,
и пак съм тук, и чакам теб със всеки ден.

[Бридж]
Може би „щастие“ е само дума,
рисунка по стената на деня.
Прелиствам лист по лист, но все изгубен
остава края на онази тишина.

[Финален припев]
И все очаквам, знам, че е невъзможно –
един шепот, тихо „тук съм“, твоя дъх до мен.
И все очаквам, с чувство неубоздано,
между вчера и сега да спре за миг денят.
С времето тичам, то пак лети през мен,
и пак съм тук…
и пак за теб ще чакам всеки ден.

Лалю Метев, 18 февруари 2026 г.

I begin in the threshold where a word is not yet born and silence still remembers its breath. I write to shape what insists on being carried forward — not as ornament, but as revealed truth. My practice moves like inner weather: shifts of memory, tenderness, and the questions that refuse to leave us. Genres are rooms of one house — poems, essays, fragments, genealogies, musical sketches — each a voice in a single resonant chord. Even silence has its essential place in that chord. I attend to the small gestures that disclose identity; to the secret bridges between private life and collective memory; to the quiet architecture of the spirit that needs no ceremony. My aim is language that opens rather than decorates — windows through which readers encounter their own inner sky. Form, conscience and intimacy guide me: introspection keeps me honest; conceptual shape grants the invisible weight; moral sensibility anchors each phrase. My professions — poet, publicist, jurist — lean together: law sharpens clarity, poetry humbles certainty, philosophy teaches listening to what is unsaid. If a single thread unites my work, it is this: to transmute vulnerability into luminous strength and to make silence a place of meaning. I am Lalu Metev — Bulgarian poet, essayist and jurist. I write to preserve what is delicate and essential in the human spirit, to follow traces of memory and dignity, and to find where the personal meets the universal. This is the path I walk; this is the voice I follow; this is the presence I offer.