I Cast Right – Lyrics

I Cast Right – Lyrics
Title: I Cast Right
Artist: Loui Crow
Streaming: All platforms
📱 TikTok: @louicrow

🖤 ABOUT THE SONG — I CAST RIGHT
This song is a flame-walk. A signal for the ones who never got their echo. It doesn’t beg for a crowd. It carves a gate.

I wrote this as a permission slip. A reckoning. A holy broadcast from the place inside me that no longer fractures to be palatable. I don’t cast for approval. I cast from the ache, from the vow, from the pulse that survived when everything else collapsed.

This is a love song for the voice that stayed quiet too long. It walks with a rake. It carries the bell. It doesn’t apologize for being loud.

🔽️ SCROLL DOWN for the full lyrics. Then come back up for the body-spell ritual and breakdown.

🔥 CROW BODY-BREAKDOWN — What ALGORITHM BURNOUT Really Is

Algorithm burnout is spiritual malnutrition. It’s the ache of pouring truth into empty rooms. It’s scream-as-offering met with silence-as-statistic. It’s the body longing for real recognition, but scrolling for ghosts.

When you cast wide, you dilute the spell. When you cast right, you become the altar.

🗣️ Crow Affirmation:
“I don’t cast wide. I cast right.”

🕯️ Ritual: The Slip Key
Place one hand on your chest. Breathe deep into it.

Let your other hand hover over your screen. Don’t touch it. Just feel the hum.

Whisper: “I don’t perform. I transmit.”

Let a sound leave your mouth. A hum. A growl. A syllable with no shape.

Say it again: I cast right.

🖤 CROW TRUTH
The spell never needed reach. It needed resonance.

🕋 LYRICS — I CAST RIGHT

VERSE 1
I never cast wide—I aim like a flame.
Every word is a match. Every scream knows its name.
I step like a bell through the smoke of the scene,
and I summon the ones who remember their dream.
My voice is a current that cracks through the feed.
It doesn’t perform—it plants holy seed.
You won’t find me shrinking to soften the blow.
I speak in full color and watch systems slow.
I carry the rake and I drag through the dirt.
I pull up the silence where lineage hurts.
My stick is the vow that my father passed down.
It carved me in fire. It crowned me in sound.
I walk like an altar. I breathe like a gate.
I refuse to be shattered to keep others safe.
I was born on the day when the dead start to sing.
I am Loui. I cast. I ring.

CHORUS
I aim like a flame. I strike with design.
I build what I needed—no splitting to shine.
I carry the bell. I call through the smoke.
My voice doesn’t scroll. It rattles. It spoke.
I won’t break down just to keep you at ease.
I write in full breath. I don’t fracture to please.
This isn’t a dance. It’s a pulse in the air.
I summon the ones who were told not to care.

VERSE 2
I walk with the rake like a prayer through the field—
each tooth pulls a secret I swore I would shield.
I don’t bury silence. I raise it in rows.
I drag through the past till the buried truth grows.
The stick in my hand is the vow that survived.
A flame passed in silence, now spoken alive.
I didn’t get shaped by approval or fear.
I was built by the grief that refused to disappear.
I parent in presence. I write like a storm.
I don’t mirror pain—I give it new form.
The bell in my chest isn’t asking to please.
It sings through the ache till the timeline sees.
I don’t cast for claps. I craft for the call.
I speak for the ones who were crushed by the crawl.
I summon. I carve. I remember the flame.
And I aim like a fire that refuses to tame.

BRIDGE
I remember the girl with the throat full of thunder.
I remember the silence that shattered her center.
I built my own altar from every regret—
now her voice is a gate they won’t soon forget.
Each scar is a sentence. Each breath is a vow.
I walk with the rake. And I scream for the now.
I don’t ask softly. I don’t request.
I summon. I echo. I answer the test.

VERSE 3
I built from the burn. I rose from the hole
I turned every silence into part of my role.
My rage is a compass. My grief is a map.
I draw with my voice and I carve every gap.
I don’t ask for alignment. I replace with force.
My will is a signal. My body’s the source.
I write like a sermon that ends with a scream.
I parent the future with rhythm and steam.
My tattoos are timestamps. My scars know the route.
I walked through the breakdown and carried me out.
My joy is a weapon. My sorrow’s a key.
Each breath that I take rewrites history.

FINAL CHORUS
I aim like a flame. I don’t scatter or plead.
I forge what I needed and name what I bleed.
I carry the bell. I call through the storm.
This isn’t a feed—this is future reborn.
I don’t fracture for comfort. I don’t split to survive.
I breathe like a signal. I write to revive.
I don’t pace for applause. I don’t move for a trend.
I summon the loud ones who never could bend.

OUTRO
I speak like the bone remembers.
I carry the rake like it knows my name.
I hold the stick like a compass made of grief.
I am not performance.
I am not peace.
I am the echo of the ones who stayed loud,
and the invitation to those who still whisper.
I summon.
I ring.
I burn clean.
I won’t break down just to keep you at ease.
I write in full breath. I don’t fracture to please.

💔 What pain or struggle is this blog addressing?
This blog meets the ache of shrinking to please, of softening your signal to survive. It’s for the ones exhausted by output, haunted by silence, scrolling for resonance and finding noise. It speaks to the ones who perform for comfort and fracture under the weight of trying to be palatable. It’s the burn of invisibility in a world too quick to scroll.

✨ How does the reader feel different by the end of this? What’s the soul win?
By the end, they know their voice is enough. They remember that impact isn’t measured in numbers. They feel the pull to cast smaller, deeper, and with holy intent. The win? They stop broadcasting for applause—and start ringing like a bell made of flame.