[Philopera] The Forest Where My Years Return скачать в хорошем качестве

[Philopera] The Forest Where My Years Return

This opera embodies the philosophy of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who believed that the human heart is most truthful when it returns to nature. The forest in the opera is not merely a setting but a moral and emotional witness—an archive of innocence, youth, and uncorrupted feeling. The tenor’s voice reflects Rousseau’s conviction that modern society fractures the self, replacing natural sincerity with ambition, shame, and alienation. Childhood appears as a state of purity remembered rather than regained, while youth burns with desire and untested promises. Old age is portrayed not as decline but as a painful clarity: the moment when one dares to ask whether the self shaped by society has betrayed the self shaped by nature. The repeated plea to “return” is not literal but existential. Nature offers no judgment—only acceptance—allowing the man to reconcile his past and present selves. In true Rousseauian spirit, the opera suggests that healing begins when we listen again to the quiet voice of nature, where memory, emotion, and authenticity still breathe together. If this song resonated with you, please support it with a like and subscribe. [Lyrics] O forest breathing, keep my secret years, You knew my childhood deeper than my name. You watched my barefoot laughter, all my tears, You held my shame before I knew its flame. The river learned the weight of early dreams, It carved my fear in pebbles, leaf, and stone. I hear it now in fading silver streams, Calling the boy who walked these woods alone. I whisper to the branches on the ground, “Did you remember me when I was not around?” Take me back, take me back to the green that knew my heart, To the sky that wrote my name in early light. Let the wind undo the years that tore my gentleness apart, Let the leaves fall softly on my aging sight. Take me back where quiet summer burned, To the forest where my years return. The hill remembers when my chest first learned of fire, When love was trembling wildly in my hand. I ran through storms for one unspoken desire, I vowed my soul to what I couldn't understand. The summer grasses heard my trembling voice, They knew the oath that I would never change. Yet here I stand—an older, faded choice, A stranger to that boy, and still the same. I speak into the twilight’s fragile skin, “Will you forgive the man I slowly grew within?” Take me back, take me back to the green that knew my heart, To the sky that wrote my name in early light. Let the wind undo the years that tore my gentleness apart, Let the leaves fall softly on my aging sight. Take me back where young fierce summers burned, To the forest where my years return. Tonight the lake is still; it wears the face I used to wear, A softer gaze untouched by deep regret. I see a boy who trusts the world, unaware, I call his name—he has not heard me yet. The path is lost in vines, but still remembers me, Each stone retains the echo of my stride. The older I become, the more I beg these trees To guard the parts of me the city made me hide. I lean into the silence where night and waters meet, “Will you still call me yours when I drag my weary feet?” Take me back, take me back to the green that knew my heart, To the sky that wrote my name in early light. Let the wind undo the years that tore my gentleness apart, Let the leaves fall softly on my aging sight. Take me back where first shy prayers were learned, To the forest where my years return. I left you for the cities built on glass and noise, Traded birdsong for the praise of hollow crowds. I broke the vows I wrote here as a trembling boy, Wrapped my heart in iron, hid my sorrow in a shroud. But when the lights go out and quiet fills the dark, This forest blooms inside me like a spark. Take me back, take me back to the green that knew my heart, Even if my feet can never reach that ground. Let the wind undo the years that pulled my younger self apart, Let the leaves fall gently in a circling sound. Let me kneel beside the river of the years I could not keep, Let the water wash the names I failed to be. I am old, I am tired, but listening to the rain, Every drop returns a spring inside of me. Take the man, take the boy—let them finally return, To the forest where my years return, To the forest… where my years… return. #Opera #Soprano #tenoraria #PhilosophyInMusic #ClassicalVoice #EpicOpera #OperaAria #Lyrics #ClassicalOpera #OperaSinger#OrchestralAria#EpicOpera#operaperformance