Hello everyone i Just startet playing an old Recorder (ITS a medival Version of this flute) i would Love to Play this Song. Fan anyone hell me an transcribe the notes from the Violin so i can Play IT in my Recorder? I Just wnated to Play the Part until 01:03.
Thanks a lot ♥️
https://open.spotify.com/track/7kgU7Iv6szVjv075XPh3m7?si=x18za\_5ZROS5lqSHg1qSYw
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I used to live in a four-story building. There was one apartment on each floor; I moved into the second floor, with a studious but reclusive student living above me and an elderly lady below me. The ground-floor apartment was always considered unpopular and unrentable, since it had only one window facing the backyard and was otherwise incredibly dark. So I found it all the more strange when, one morning, I saw a name on the doorbell. Only a truly hapless fool could have moved into that apartment. Without any light, he’d have to live in almost complete darkness.
I hardly ever saw him. At most, I’d catch a glimpse of his figure darting into the apartment as soon as I stepped into the stairwell, and he seemed to take out even his trash only at night. Whether he had a job or how he managed to get groceries seemed incomprehensible to me.
One day, I suddenly jolted awake.
“Shut up already! Be quiet!” screamed a strange male voice.
A loud commotion echoed through the building, and the elderly lady who lived below me stood at my apartment door, completely bewildered.
“I… I was lying in bed, and then he screamed, banged on the ceiling, and pounded on my door. He threatened me.”
“Shut your mouth. Just be quiet already!” came a muffled shout from behind my new neighbor’s door.
He screamed it with anguish in his voice.
We immediately contacted the police and explained that our neighbor had apparently gone crazy. The police officer instructed us to go back into our apartments.
That night, I could still hear the police pounding on my neighbor’s door, but after a while, silence fell. The next few weeks in the building were eerie. Whenever I left the building behind, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from me, but returning home—especially at night—gave me an uneasy feeling. My fear of running into the madman in the stairwell grew day by day. After a few days, it got worse. He started humming the same melody off-key in his apartment, over and over again. Day after day. It burned itself into my head, even though it was out of rhythm, and something about it made me miserable—as if it were that one song you hear on the radio every day, only you can’t turn it off; it stays in your head over and over again. I tried covering my ears with my pillow, but nothing worked—I kept hearing the humming whenever there was even a moment of silence. One evening, I came home and he was humming his song again. When I stood in front of his door to satisfy my curiosity, he suddenly stopped; even though he couldn’t see me, it was as if I could feel his breath right through the door. A shiver ran down my spine, and I immediately rushed up the stairs. Softly from downstairs, I heard the humming start again. I’d thought about peeking through his only window, but something stopped me. I was afraid.
The next morning, I received the news that my elderly neighbor had passed away. I decided then and there to terminate my lease and finally escape from that house of horrors.
It’s been ten years now. I live in a new ground-floor apartment, and that song is still stuck in my head. My neighbors started looking at me strangely; one complained that I should stop humming at night, saying it was so loud that it could be heard all the way up in the apartment above. But they don’t know what they’re talking about—I’m just humming; they’re the ones who are loud, so loud. They should finally be quiet.
I used to live in a four-story building. There was one apartment on each floor; I moved into the second floor, with a studious but reclusive student living above me and an elderly lady below me. The ground-floor apartment was always considered unpopular and unrentable, since it had only one window facing the backyard and was otherwise incredibly dark. So I found it all the more strange when, one morning, I saw a name on the doorbell. Only a truly hapless fool could have moved into that apartment. Without any light, he’d have to live in almost complete darkness.
I hardly ever saw him. At most, I’d catch a glimpse of his figure darting into the apartment as soon as I stepped into the stairwell, and he seemed to take out even his trash only at night. Whether he had a job or how he managed to get groceries seemed incomprehensible to me.
One day, I suddenly jolted awake.
“Shut up already! Be quiet!” screamed a strange male voice.
A loud commotion echoed through the building, and the elderly lady who lived below me stood at my apartment door, completely bewildered.
“I… I was lying in bed, and then he screamed, banged on the ceiling, and pounded on my door. He threatened me.”
“Shut your mouth. Just be quiet already!” came a muffled shout from behind my new neighbor’s door.
He screamed it with anguish in his voice.
We immediately contacted the police and explained that our neighbor had apparently gone crazy. The police officer instructed us to go back into our apartments.
That night, I could still hear the police pounding on my neighbor’s door, but after a while, silence fell. The next few weeks in the building were eerie. Whenever I left the building behind, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from me, but returning home—especially at night—gave me an uneasy feeling. My fear of running into the madman in the stairwell grew day by day. After a few days, it got worse. He started humming the same melody off-key in his apartment, over and over again. Day after day. It burned itself into my head, even though it was out of rhythm, and something about it made me miserable—as if it were that one song you hear on the radio every day, only you can’t turn it off; it stays in your head over and over again. I tried covering my ears with my pillow, but nothing worked—I kept hearing the humming whenever there was even a moment of silence. One evening, I came home and he was humming his song again. When I stood in front of his door to satisfy my curiosity, he suddenly stopped; even though he couldn’t see me, it was as if I could feel his breath right through the door. A shiver ran down my spine, and I immediately rushed up the stairs. Softly from downstairs, I heard the humming start again. I’d thought about peeking through his only window, but something stopped me. I was afraid.
The next morning, I received the news that my elderly neighbor had passed away. I decided then and there to terminate my lease and finally escape from that house of horrors.
It’s been ten years now. I live in a new ground-floor apartment, and that song is still stuck in my head. My neighbors started looking at me strangely; one complained that I should stop humming at night, saying it was so loud that it could be heard all the way up in the apartment above. But they don’t know what they’re talking about—I’m just humming; they’re the ones who are loud, so loud. They should finally be quiet.