8. I’m Glass — Lyrics

Jan 29

Scroll past the lyrics to read more about this song.

Lyrics

[Intro]
Somewhere along the journey
I forgot how to hold me

[Verse]
Do you see me
or just the shape I throw?
Do you see
what I don’t show?
Friend in the mirror,
where did you go?
You could whisper it,
…talk real low
Maybe I’m not listening—
My thoughts get louder
when I move slow

(pause)
…

[Pre-Chorus]
Feeling fragile…
…I’m glass
A little light, a little cracked
Wondering how long
the moment lasts,

[Chorus]
Is a little too much to ask?
Am I just a window now?
Is a little too much to ask?
Are you looking through me?

Feeling fragile…
…I’m glass
I’m glass

[Bridge]
If I break, will I sound like a song?
The shape of sound I held too long
Don’t hold me up—…let me fall slow
I need to hear the way it echoes

[Pre-Chorus]
Feeling fragile…
…I’m glass
A little light, a little cracked
Wondering how long
the moment lasts,

[Chorus]
Is a little too much to ask?
Am I just a window now?
Is a little too much to ask?
Are you looking through me?

Feeling fragile…
…I’m glass
I’m glass

[Outro]
If I break
I shake the frame
I make a sound
I stay
I’m not asking to be fixed
Just seen
Even if only by me

About This Song

There is a spot in my kitchen I keep returning to. Two walls meet there, both have a mirror. When I stand in that spot, I can see myself from more than one angle at once. It’s where a lot of this album was written.

If you’ve followed my work for a while, you know mirrors matter to me. I use them intentionally — not for vanity, but for self return.

Over the last few years, I’ve been learning how to be my own friend again. Louise Hay’s mirror work opened that door for me. Looking myself in the eye. Speaking kindly. Staying present long enough for the body to hear the words instead of arguing with them.

I’m still learning. Still practicing.

Last year, something small shifted everything.

I noticed that when I looked into my right eye in the mirror, my inner voice softened. When I looked into my left, old criticism showed up fast and sharp. The difference surprised me.

I realized that when I speak with other people, I naturally look into their left eye. It made me wonder, what happens if I flip it in the mirror?

The words landed differently.
The kindness stayed longer.

My right eye started showing me safety.

This song came through me in that exact spot in my kitchen — standing between two reflections, listening, with my tiny journal that has a photo of me and my Granny.

It was written and edited within literally thirty minutes. One of the quickest pieces on the album, and one of my favorites.

Transparency as a feeling

I’m Glass is about the moment when transparency feels tender — when being seen feels thin, exposed, and necessary at the same time.

Glass lets light through.
Glass reflects.
Glass holds delicacy and strength in the same body.

Seeing vs. being looked through

A lot of this song circles one question:

Am I being seen — or just looked through?

Glass often goes unnoticed because it does its job quietly. It holds space. It lets light move. It separates and connects at the same time. It’s rarely thanked for that.

This song gives voice to that feeling. How many times a day do I walk by those mirrors and not look at her?

Fragile doesn’t mean weak

It means responsive.
Sensitive to pressure, sound, and light.

When glass breaks, it doesn’t disappear.
It makes a sound.
It changes the room.

Why it sits here in the album

After Am I Awake or Asleep? opens perception outward, I’m Glass turns it inward.

It’s the moment where awareness meets self-reflection. Where the question becomes personal. Where my body asks to be held differently.

This song slows the album down again — just enough to notice what’s actually being felt.

What I was learning

I didn’t need to be stronger.
I didn’t need to be fixed.

I needed to see myself clearly
and accept her.

This song taught me that.

A blessing for the mirror

May the mirror stop feeling like a judge
and start feeling like a witness.

May your right eye keep showing you safety.
May your gaze soften before your words show up.

May you learn the difference between being seen
and being looked through —
and choose the first, even when it feels tender.

May the glass reflect without pressure.
May it hold light without demanding performance.
May it let you arrive as you are
and leave without taking pieces of you.

May you stand long enough to feel kindness land.
May you look without flinching.
May you recognize yourself as someone worth staying with.

A little crow’s on the wire,
keeping watch over you. 🐦‍⬛

Loui Crow

I make music, practice mirror work, sometimes I do somatic rage fits, and small forms of magick that help me stay present and kind while things change.

I write songs for myself, my inner child, and for the woman I am becoming.
I work through old patterns, grief, and survival habits as I notice them loosening.

Sometimes I write as the Crow — that's my ideal self. Direct, unattached, protective, grounded in something older than my fear. Other voices come through too. The snake. The spider. The fly. The ghosts are the false selves I created to survive. I write as all of them, for my own self-hypnosis — unpacking who I've been so that my son can fill his days with joy and I can stop being such a reactive parent. I'm in the middle of it all. I just keep showing up.

I use Suno for vocals and instrumentals — the vocals are seeded from my own voice. I'm a disabled veteran and a stay-at-home mom.

Over the last year, I climbed an emotional ladder I didn't know I was on. Many of my earlier releases were the scream — my depression, anger, insecurity.

The last album that came out of that climb is called "Mirror, Mirror off the Wall." It starts with depression and ends with gratitude.

Much of what lives here carries the influence of Louise Hay and Abraham Hicks, especially the idea that my body listens to my thoughts — and that where I place my attention, my life follows.

I leave breadcrumbs in case anyone resonates.

Take what feeds you.
Leave the rest for the birds.

I am molting.
You are welcome here.

https://louicrow.com