Album release Feb 28.
Pre-order available on Apple Music.
Sneak peak the songs below (page still building)
BYRDS - About the Album
A bird-song album shaped by listening, embodiment, and subtle movement. Each track arrives as a function of awareness—Crow watches, Molt releases, Owl times, Heron strikes, Blue Jay speaks, Seagull eats, Mockingbird listens, Red Robin hopes, Flamingo plays, Goldfinch glows, Vulture clears, Hummingbird receives.
Inspired by Abraham Hicks, Louise Hay, Aleister Crowley, the Book of the Law, and Hebrew letter wisdom, BYRDS explores presence, regulation, pleasure, and reciprocity.
Blue Jay Says Speak — Lyrics
I wrote this one for the version of me who finally feels safe, but whose body still braces like the past could burst through the door. This is a little spark-spell for the days I hover over every seed I plant, waiting for something to go wrong. I’m not a master of anything — just a beginner learning how to use my own voice without apologizing for existing.
Blue Jay is the part of me that interrupts the fear-loops: he pecks the sorry off my lips, taps my throat when I go quiet, and reminds me that the world won’t collapse if I speak first. Where Crow holds the pain, Jay carries the release.
This song is my practice. My new nerve-pattern. A reminder that the danger is past, the soil is working, and I don’t have to keep standing on my future to make sure it grows.
If you’re unlearning the apology spell too — this one’s for you, too.
Crow On The Wire
This one is for the version of me who's thoughts scatter like startled birds, who cleans the counter for the fourth time, who suddenly can’t read a paragraph she was just inside of. I wrote this for the quiet moment where my body braces and my truth blurs—when instinct tries to shield me from knowing too much, too soon.
There’s a witness in me who never buys the performance. She doesn’t push; she just perches—bright-eyed, unamused by my avoidance. This track is a little signal for the days I feel myself thinning at the edges, slipping out of view. A reminder that I can come back without armor on.
If you’re someone who senses things too early, holds too much, or slips out of your own skin when the feeling hits—here’s a small light on the wire for you.
May it meet you right at the edge of your truth.
May it welcome you back gently.
May it steady the place you stand.