đź–¤ Lyrics I Lived First
These songs started in my nervous system.
The ache. The silence. The part that braced. The scream no one translated.
I lived every lyric first.
Then I use Suno AI to give them a voice and instruments.
I don’t sing the songs myself. I write them. I survive them. I finish them.
What you hear is sorcery for closet songwriters: words stitched into sound.
What you read is survival turned into music.
đź“€ My first full album lives on the GORGEOUS page.
This space is for all the single releases—the songs that keep coming.
🏚 The site is still under reconstruction.
Pages are shifting. Bones are showing. I’m gutting it as I go.
The homepage is music. Because it always was. Every other link? Just bones I left behind for those crawling back to their own body.
👇 Scroll for the songs.
WIFEY GOT A GOOD LIFE – Lyrics
Wifey Got a Good Life—a love song rooted in mess, memory, and staying through the storm. It captures the quiet joy of a life co-built: cold rice on the stove, laughter in the kitchen, a child drawing on the wall. The moment holds because love held first. This isn’t a dream—it’s the real thing, and it hums from the inside out.
BECAUSE I SAID SO – Lyrics
This song is my reckoning. BECAUSE I SAID SO came from the gap between how I was showing up and who I wanted to be. It’s the sound of me catching myself mid-script, mid-yell, mid-trigger—and choosing something different. I didn’t write this from theory—I wrote it from the floor, holding the weight of my own voice.
RAKE AND STICK (FOR EVERY MOTHER AND FATHER WHO HELD IT IN) – Lyrics
This blog digs into the silence shaped by survival. Loui Crow wields the rake and the stick as ritual tools—unearthing what was buried, and swinging what was never allowed to scream. Part lyrical offering, part body-spell, this piece turns inherited weight into rhythm, movement, and breath. It’s a thunder cry of love for the ones who never got to let it out.
I’m Gonna Get My Stick - Lyrics
This is a love song for the fathers who didn’t know how to cry.
A rhythm born from silence, survival, and the weight of lineage.
The stick becomes a symbol of what shaped us—then a ritual tool for what frees us.
Through stomp, chant, and verse, I dance the grief they never could.
Every beat is a vow to move what stayed locked in their bones.
WHERE ARE THE MOTHERS – Lyrics
This blog holds the spell of a mother who chooses not to pass it down. I wrote it in the aftermath of a hard moment, with breath still shaking in my ribs. These lyrics track the pattern of rage, restraint, and repair—the sacred loop of staying present in fire without becoming it. I offer this for anyone who has ever stormed, returned, and chosen love with mud still on their boots.
I AM THE RAKE – Lyrics
This is what I wrote instead of screaming.
The rake moved what my mouth couldn’t say.
It dug through the grief I didn’t name—but still felt, still carried, still almost passed on.
It’s a rhythm for the ones who inherited the storm and chose to break the cycle with their body.
Not against the ones who came before—but for them.
For the love that was buried beneath duty.
For the softness that never got spoken.
I swing to clear space for that.
This is how I till the field and return with love.