Settlors
by D'om Ahum
Settlors — Country Freedom Style A dusty southern trail at golden hour. A lone man rides, guitar on back, eyes toward the horizon. Symbols of justice in nature: a broken chain on a fencepost, an old deed flapping in the wind. Keywords: freedom, dominion, settlor, reversion, land, equity, birthright, the rest is ours.
0:00 / 02:59
2
Plays
1
Likes
02:59
Duration
Aug 12
Released
BPM
120
Key
C major
Time Signature
4/4
Genre
Electronic
Mood
neutral
Energy
medium
Generation Details
Audio Analysis
Waveform Analysis
Frequency Spectrum
Track Breakdown
Lyrics
A lone man rides where the sagebrush leans,
Dust kicking up, the air smells clean.
A guitar strapped tight, a story untold,
The sun sinks low, painting the hills in gold.
Freedom rides on the back of a steed,
Dominion's ours where the wild winds lead.
A broken chain, a deed set free,
The land, the birthright—it’s ours to see.
An old fencepost holds the past in its grip,
A tattered deed, like a flag, does whip.
The whispers of settlers, the echoes of kin,
Reversion calls—our roots run deep within.
The earth remembers, the rivers sing,
Equity's voice in the soft grass springing.
Freedom rides on the back of a steed,
Dominion's ours where the wild winds lead.
A broken chain, a deed set free,
The land, the birthright—it’s ours to see.
The horizon burns with a copper hue,
Each step forward feels born anew.
The rest is ours, where the sky meets the land,
A settlor's dream in the palm of our hand.
Dust kicking up, the air smells clean.
A guitar strapped tight, a story untold,
The sun sinks low, painting the hills in gold.
Freedom rides on the back of a steed,
Dominion's ours where the wild winds lead.
A broken chain, a deed set free,
The land, the birthright—it’s ours to see.
An old fencepost holds the past in its grip,
A tattered deed, like a flag, does whip.
The whispers of settlers, the echoes of kin,
Reversion calls—our roots run deep within.
The earth remembers, the rivers sing,
Equity's voice in the soft grass springing.
Freedom rides on the back of a steed,
Dominion's ours where the wild winds lead.
A broken chain, a deed set free,
The land, the birthright—it’s ours to see.
The horizon burns with a copper hue,
Each step forward feels born anew.
The rest is ours, where the sky meets the land,
A settlor's dream in the palm of our hand.
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