Play the songs right here

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“Fever” is a soundtrack of intensity — burning, rising, fading, and still. Songs about a world out of balance, about pressure, silence, and the point of no return. Heat, water, collapse, and consequence. Not to dramatize the crisis, but to make it felt. A soundtrack for those who refuse to look away.

Album: Fever
Track Numbers: 11

Artist:

JUMBO BLOCK

Year:

2025

Publisher/Label:

ZANNI GROUP

Studio Support:

AUDIO OPTIMUM

Composer/Lyricist:

Andreas Zanni

Copyright:

℗ Andreas Zanni

"A cinematic song about the climate crisis. Quiet vocals, heavy truth. Fever is what the Earth feels – and we ignore."

The air stands still inside my room

Windows closed, but still it burns

I turn it off, the screen still flickers

Outside, the world returns

Rivers rise and break the levees

Children flee their flooded schools

Fires sweep through towns and valleys

And no one has the proper tools

Cities glow beneath the covers

Old ones die without a sound

Rain falls hard in blackened pulses

Storms rip everything unbound

Fever – and no one knows the cure

We talk in whispers while it screams

Fever – a slow and silent lure

That pierces deeper than it seems

Fields are burning in the drylands

Animals with no escape

The south is waiting for the rainfall

The north just counts the days

Tents are rising in the parking lots

Villages are lost to flood

Homes collapse and hillsides follow

And it’s not ending – only grows

Fever – and no one knows the cure

We talk in whispers while it screams

Fever – a slow and silent lure

That pierces deeper than it seems

I see the image on my screen

A child stands where the street once was

I scroll right past – like every Friday

I can’t absorb it. Can’t because.

Pakistan, Canada, Brazil, Japan

Sudan, Colombia, Germany, Iran

Australia, Indonesia, France, Peru

USA, India, Ireland too

Bangladesh, Nigeria, China, Spain

Saudi Arabia, Kenya, Ukraine

Philippines, Thailand, Mexico, Mali

Papua, Mozambique, Italy, Chile

Afghanistan, Ecuador, Britain, Greece

Tanzania, Vietnam, South Sudan, Belize

Everywhere.

At once.

Fever – no savior on the way

No fairy tale to lead us back

Fever – we’re standing at the edge

And watching all we built collaps

“We watched it rise. We said nothing. This is an epic rock elegy about warming seas, sinking cities – and a planet that won’t forget.”

There was once a town by the sea.

Children drew lines in the sand.

Now the lines are gone.

Now the children float.

The surface burned before we noticed.

The currents slowed before we cared.

Oxygen slipped from the ocean’s breath

and the algae bloomed in silence.

The glaciers cracked behind the satellites.

Greenland cried from underneath.

Antarctica bled in silence

while we watched another screen.

The AMOC began to stumble.

The Gulf Stream lost its path.

Fish rose belly-up in tropic bays.

The coral turned to ash.

Then came the inch. The foot. The meter.

Salt in the fields. Salt in the wells.

The rice refused to grow that year.

And no one rang the bell.

Jakarta, gone.

Lagos, gone.

Tuvalu washed from memory.

Bangladesh in boats.

Florida in flight.

And Hamburg’s harbor in mourning.

Children sleep in tents on dams.

Schools drift with the tides.

Storms come like broken clocks.

Nothing grows where the tide once stopped.

We named the oceans.

We mapped the lines.

We ignored the warnings.

We ran out of time.

Now the ice remembers more than we do.

Now the sea reclaims its debt.

Now the wind brings back what we forgot—

and no one stands to weep.

We sang about the ocean.

We watched it rise.

But the ocean doesn’t rise alone.

It takes.

It takes.

And it remembers.

"We stand in silence as the river disappears. This is a rock/pop ballad about vanishing waters, vanishing futures – and the stillness we ignore."

The air is thick, the smoke is wide

A silent wind drifts side to side

No water flows through dust and stone

The earth cries out, the sky’s alone

The water runs like in a dream

It fades away, a silent stream

The ground is burning, all is still

No rain will come – not when we will

One drop will fall, then ten, then more

The rivers rage, like never before

What once was missing breaks the chain

The silence fades – the storm remains

When rivers fall silent and oceans cry

Who listens now, when all runs dry?

Where water once meant life, comes fear

And we lose strength, and all that’s clear

In towns they share the dust like bread

One final well is nearly dead

And somewhere else, the land goes down

A curse arrived – and all was drowned

We see ourselves in every face

A mirror shows what still has place

A single drop, a silent sign

Where water stood, new roots align

When rivers fall silent and oceans cry

Who listens now, when all runs dry?

Where water once meant life, comes fear

And we lose strength, and all that’s clear

A gentle wind through ashes weaves

Where water flows, new promise breathes

Time slips away, but something stays

What dares to grow won’t drift away

The rivers will rise and sing again

If we reply to silent rain

One drop of truth within our gaze

And with it, life returns with grace

The rivers will rise and sing again

If we reply to silent rain

One drop of truth within our gaze

And with it, life returns with grace

“The warnings were real. The time was ours. This is a cinematic rock piece about lost hours, unheeded truth – and the wind that moves on.”

The wind has read the pages.

It carries dust from 1824.

Fourier traced the trapped heat.

A silent fire we could not see.

Arrhenius drew the warming curve.

Black warned behind Exxon glass.

Hansen stood before the lights.

They knew the air would thicken.

We measured what we feared.

And archived what we knew.

We filed away the future

in drawers labeled Later.

The years passed like meetings.

The clocks ticked beneath the oil.

The Keeling curve climbed quietly.

The Arctic whispered in retreat.

They said: it’s not certain.

They said: it's still in debate.

But the models held.

And the wind didn’t wait.

We gave the fire a name,

then refused to speak it.

We sold the truth in footnotes.

We spent the hours on profit.

The science spoke in numbers.

The sea responded in degrees.

The voices faded from the floor.

The wind passed through the silence.

Broecker warned with ancient ice.

Manabe mapped the future heat.

Rahmstorf followed the falling stream.

Latif translated the tide.

And Al Gore rang bells in daylight.

We had the charts.

We had the proof.

The window stayed ajar.

But the wind—

the wind won’t wait.

Not for clarity.

Not for faith.

Not for headlines or apologies.

It moves.

It moves.

And we follow.

This version of “When Rivers Fall Silent” features Noah – a delicate, vocal-driven rendition that brings a new intimacy to the song. Same message. Different silence.

The air is thick, the smoke is wide

A silent wind drifts side to side

No water flows through dust and stone

The earth cries out, the sky’s alone

The water runs like in a dream

It fades away, a silent stream

The ground is burning, all is still

No rain will come – not when we will

One drop will fall, then ten, then more

The rivers rage, like never before

What once was missing breaks the chain

The silence fades – the storm remains

When rivers fall silent and oceans cry

Who listens now, when all runs dry?

Where water once meant life, comes fear

And we lose strength, and all that’s clear

In towns they share the dust like bread

One final well is nearly dead

And somewhere else, the land goes down

A curse arrived – and all was drowned

We see ourselves in every face

A mirror shows what still has place

A single drop, a silent sign

Where water stood, new roots align

When rivers fall silent and oceans cry

Who listens now, when all runs dry?

Where water once meant life, comes fear

And we lose strength, and all that’s clear

A gentle wind through ashes weaves

Where water flows, new promise breathes

Time slips away, but something stays

What dares to grow won’t drift away

The rivers will rise and sing again

If we reply to silent rain

One drop of truth within our gaze

And with it, life returns with grace

The rivers will rise and sing again

If we reply to silent rain

One drop of truth within our gaze

And with it, life returns with grace

Synthwave-inspired track with retro textures and spoken vocals. A nostalgic ballad reflecting on freedom, connection, and lost time. Soft pads, steady rhythm and lyrical storytelling create a cinematic memory of the 80s.

No screens.

No fear.

Just airwaves.

And neon in our mirrors.

We danced into the data

Before the world got loud

No feeds, no filters, no alphas

Just Walkmans in the crowd

We trusted in our teachers

And feared no siren’s call

We built from sparks and silence

And didn’t want it all

We knew the world was burning

But still believed in green

Solar panels, protest marches

Futures on the screen

We made mistakes, we called them that

And fixed them if we could

We crashed, we cried, we carried on

And did the best we could

No one measured kindness

No one monetized the rain

We had space to lose direction

But we always found our lane

We were free

Not flawless, not forever

But something you could be

We had time

To fail and then to grow

Not just survive, but glow

We believed

In progress and each other

Before the algorithm's creed

We were light, not speed

We were…

Free

We burned through neon ballads

With Journey in our ears

Madonna broke the silence

And Cyndi wiped our tears

U2 brought revolution

The Police turned drums to gold

We painted worlds with Foreigner

And sang like we were bold

Then came the glass

In every hand

The scores, the swipes

The shrinking land

Noise got louder than the truth

And silence lost its name

We started liking images

And stopped playing the game

We counted hearts and followers

But lost the ones inside

We ran for clicks and comments

And forgot how not to hide

The rules outgrew the reasons

The forms outpaced the cause

We canceled for mistakes

But never paused for loss

Kraftwerk sparked the circuits

While Yello bent the rules

Erasure dressed the sadness

In digital perfumes

Alphaville dreamed futures

With buttons, pads, and light

The Eurythmics made us feel

In binary and night

We trusted in the future

And played without a net

We lived the sound, not streamed it

And we’re not done yet

We were free

Not flawless, not forever

But something you could be

We had time

To fall, and still believe

In dreams we dared to weave

We stood close

With no screen in between

No filters, just a scene

Of living, not a feed

We were…

Free

Depeche Mode lit the darkness

With whispers and machines

Guns N’ Roses tore the silence

And played behind the scenes

The Cure gave shape to longing

Phil Collins gave it a name

We lived inside those speakers

And never heard the same

We were free

Like lovers in the static

Like truth before the stream

We were sparks

Not optimized or planned

But real, and full, and grand

We believed

In talk, in time, in touch

In something more than feeds

We had less — and it was much

We were…

Free

Not perfect. Not pure.

But unafraid.

We didn’t always know the answer.

But we believed there was one.

And that we’d find it.

Together.

“He Carried the Sun” is a tribute to a father whose warmth shaped a family. A song about love, memory, and letting go – wrapped in music that remembers.

"For Freddy – your stories, your smile, your light. This song remembers what love never forgets. In loving memory – for those who lit our lives and walked ahead into the light."

He whistled tunes like morning light,

With laughter tucked in every line.

He wore December on his coat—

But never let the cold inside.

Took me once to see the blue and white,

A boy, a scarf, a father’s pride.

That day I caught the spark in him—

The way the sun was held within.

He spoke of Bella, Bregman too,

Of matches lost and skies so blue.

I smiled, though names meant none to me—

He smiled because I let them be.

And when the chant began to rise,

We sang the Zebra Twist with pride.

Five more years, when three months were given,

He didn't fight, he just kept living.

No drama, no complaint, no fear,

Just joy that grew from year to year.

His stories danced at every feast,

With paper crowns and foolish speech.

We laughed until we couldn’t breathe—

That’s how he gave, and how he’d leave.

He looked at me that morning light,

No hero talk, no plans to fight.

He said: “I’ll walk, not crawl through this,”

And trusted me with what he missed.

He called us all by name again,

Even when the clock grew thin.

And when the memory turned to mist,

His love still knew what silence missed.

He missed the song by just one day—

But left his music in our way.

He carried the sun through winter’s door...

And now it shines a little more.

We sent him off with a sailor’s prayer—

“Boy, come back again someday.”

Yes, now it shines a little more.

You carried the sun,

You carried it far.

Through seasons and silence,

Through stories and stars.

And now it shines—

Because you were here.

You carried the sun,

You carried it far.

Through seasons and silence,

Through stories and stars.

“Walk Through fire" is a song that combines stories of pain, escape, hope and responsibility.

"For the Braves
To those who walk through fire —
not to conquer, but to survive.
To those who carry dignity in silence,
hope in exile,
and peace in their footsteps.
This song is for you."

The road is not a dream.

It is the ash of home.

It is the silence of a door

that will not open again.

Jamilah left with one small case,

Her street was gone without a trace.

The sky wrote fire on every wall,

And no one came when chLyrics to ildren called.

She walked through night to cross a fence—

That’s how her exile would commence.

We carry names, we carry night.

We walk through fire, not for fight.

Daniel watched his harvest fail.

His cows lay still beside the trail.

He sold his shoes to buy a ride

And slept beneath the open sky.

No bullets, no regime to fear—

But hunger was the war that year.

We carry names, we carry night.

We walk through fire, not for fight.

The sea had kissed her roof too long.

Anika knew the tide was wrong.

The soil turned salt, the wells ran dry—

She waved her island one last bye.

No war, no drought, no call for aid—

Just water that refused to stay.

We carry names, we carry night.

We walk through fire, not for fight.

No one leaves for nothing.

No one runs for play.

You only go

when all you know

has somehow gone away.

We carry names, we carry night.

We walk through fire, not for fight.

Reza drew a song on stone.

They jailed his voice for thoughts alone.

He crossed the hills in borrowed light

And prayed to live, not just to fight.

He traded fear for dignity—

And still was met with scrutiny.

We carry names, we carry night.

We walk through fire, not for fight.

But some bring fire in their shoes.

They curse the hands that let them loose.

They burn the peace, they shout, they break—

And leave mistrust in every wake.

They build no home, but plant their rage—

And cast a shadow on the brave.

We carry names, we carry night.

We walk through fire, not for fight.

No one leaves for nothing.

No one runs for play.

But not all come

with open hearts—

And some must walk away.

We carry names, we carry night.

We walk through fire, not for fight.

So draw the line with justice clear.

Let kindness lead, but hold it near.

The ones who flee, the ones who fail—

Are not the same upon the trail.

Where rain once fell, now dust remains. “Ash to Dust” gives voice to the silence of drought—region by region, verse by verse.

Once the ground could speak,

but now it cracks in silence.

The cows walk ribs across the plain.

The lake is now a bed of pain.

In Chaco's dust, the children play—

Their sky forgot to rain today.

The Sahel grows where gardens died.

The wells remember when they cried.

No seed can dream beneath this sun.

The green has learned to run.

Ash to dust.

Dry to bone.

It doesn’t rain

where we’ve grown.

The corn bends low with brittle hands.

No song remains across the land.

The roots are ghosts beneath the feet,

And mothers boil the heat.

Ash to dust.

Dry to bone.

It doesn’t rain

where we’ve grown.

The redwoods blaze without a fight.

The rivers whisper out of sight.

The smoke writes names across the sky,

But no one asks them why.

The vines in Spain now bake by noon.

The Danube hums a lower tune.

In Russia’s north, the ground unseals—

And wakes what time conceals.

Ash to dust.

Dry to bone.

It doesn’t rain

where we’ve grown.

The Ganges shrinks, the wells retreat.

The sky in Lahore bleeds with heat.

The cows lie down. The wind stands still.

And thirst forgets the will.

The world will sweat until it sleeps.

And no one sows what no one keeps.

Ash to dust. Ash to dust.

Even the rain has lost its trust.

The sun burns louder in the sand.

The hands that plant don't understand.

Australia dreams in fire and fear.

Its rivers disappear.

Ash to dust.

Dry to bone.

It doesn’t rain

where we’ve grown.

Ash to dust.

Ash to dust.

We prayed for rain—

but breathed in dust.

The earth still turns,

but softer now.

Each spin,

a thirst.

Each step,

a vow.

“Lemon Light” – A nostalgic synthpop EDM track about youth, freedom, and nights that burned too bright. When music was louder than fear, and time stood still.

Built a car

from rust and dreams.

Seats were ripped,

radio screamed.

Gas ran low,

the night was young.

No clue where,

just open road.

Our hearts too fast,

our plans too bold.

We burned fast,

we burned bright 

we saw the world 

in lemon light.

We burned fast,

we burned bright 

we saw the world 

in lemon light.

The club stood

on concrete knees,

strobes like stars

and memories.

She wore smiles

like neon fire.

Her eyes could make

the dark a choir.

We kissed beneath

the speaker shine,

half-drunk

on lemon wine.

Lemon light

across her face,

in every beat,

in every place.

With no regrets,

no wrong, no right.

Fast food stand,

1:15.

Steam and fries

and teenage dreams.

Laughing hard

at future plans,

wiping sauce

with paper hands.

We played the night,

no need to lie.

Coins and stars

and appetite.

We burned fast,

we burned bright

we saw the world

in lemon light.

Party haze

bled into dawn.

Blanket shared,

the music gone.

Sun rose slow

in tangerine,

across a world

we’d never seen.

We drove until

the feeling died,

but kept on

side by side.

Lemon light

on silver skin.

No map to keep,

no end in sight.

We burned fast,

we burned bright

we saw the world

in lemon light.

When that song plays,

I rewind.

Feel the heat

we left behind.

The world moved on,

the scene is past.

But I still

hum as live the past.

We burned fast,

we burned bright

we saw the world

in lemon light.

“Journalist” – A song about courage, responsibility, and the fragile line between truth and silence. Journalist gives voice to those who keep asking questions in a world that often prefers easy answers. It's a tribute to those who write not for applause — but for clarity, accountability, and change.

I told the truth

they want me silent.

I wrote to warn.

I wrote to show.

But truth don’t trend

it fades too slow.

Where is the line

between what’s right

and what we hide

to make it right?

I told the truth

they want me silent.

We crossed it once

and now it’s gone.

They said it’s kind.

They said it’s just.

But kindness cracked

and turned to dusLand wonLand won’t kneel is a song for every voice that won’t be silenced and every heart that still believes in truth.

It’s not about anger — it’s about courage. About holding the line when the world feels like it’s slipping.

This song stands with those who rise for what’s right, who speak when it’s easier to stay quiet, and who know that freedom is something you feel deep in your chest.’t kneel is a song for every voice that won’t be silenced and every heart that still believes in truth.

It’s not about anger — it’s about courage. About holding the line when the world feels like it’s slipping.

This song stands with those who rise for what’s right, who speak when it’s easier to stay quiet, and who know that freedom is something you feel deep in your chest.t.

Where is the line

between what’s fair

and what we choose

not to declare?

I told the truth

they want me silent.

Still I write

no matter what.

“That’s offensive.”

“He’s been cancelled.”

“You should know better.”

“Not platformed here.”

“This is hate.”

I told the truth

they want me silent.

We were taught:

Independence.

Truth.

Diversity.

Transparency.

Responsibility.

Things crack

given time.

I once believed in open skies.

Now I write with shuttered eyes.

I told the truth

they want me silent.

Still I write

no matter what.

I told the truth

they want me silent.

Still I write

no matter what.