UNiCORN - Lyrics
Title: UNiCORN - Track 7 of GORGEOUS album
Artist: Loui Crow
Streaming: All platforms
📱 TikTok/FB/Youtube/IG: @louicrow
Unicorn is the man who holds the door, not the leash.
He learns the storm and turns into ground—quiet, steady, real.
He doesn’t chase a yes; he waits with kind eyes and says, “I’m here.”
Title: UNiCORN
Artist: Loui Crow
Streaming: All platforms
📱 TikTok/FB/Youtube/IG: @louicrow
ABOUT THE SONG —
(Scroll down for lyrics)
This is a true story. A love letter with callouses. We left a city, lost our names, and learned the language of staying. I was a live wire. He was ground. When the room spun, he slowed the air until my “no” could breathe and my “yes” could be mine.
The shape of it wasn’t flowers or flights—it was counters squeaking clean because control had to land somewhere; it was bagels every morning, knife scrape, plate slide, “for you”; it was the soft checks—“Here?” “Now?” “Stop?”—and meaning them. It was his hands catching our son and then making toast like a benediction.
He gave up tattoo. The machine went mute. That cracks a man’s name. He grieved the quiet stuff nobody brings casseroles for: the hum of work, the door that used to open, the schedule that used to hold. He built a floor out of chores and jokes and reading out loud beside a washer that kept the beat.
We cut the feeds and the noise and heard each other’s nervous systems learning a new rhythm. Threat dimmed our play; practice brought it back. We said “We’re safe. We’re home.” until the room finally agreed. Extinction learning in crumbs: stay after the spike, breathe, repeat. Not magic—discipline.
UNiCORN is the song where I say out loud what staying costs and why it’s holy. Not because he’s perfect. Because he chose gentle when it was hard, and kept choosing it. That’s rarer than diamonds.
CROW TRUTH
He didn’t dim me; he grounded me.
He traded pride for presence and kept the door open.
He caught our son and still made toast. That’s my unicorn.
ABOUT THE ALBUM — GORGEOUS
This is Track 7 of my debut album: GORGEOUS — a 16-song exorcism of rape culture, obedience training, beauty distortion, and the blueprint they buried in girls told to stay quiet and look pretty. All true stories (blurred for safety).
A holy revolt in sixteen songs. Each track is a confession and a return. A scream in the throat of every woman who flinched and got told it was flirting. It’s the sound of memory with the volume all the way up. Not just what happened—what it did.
Track 1: GORGEOUS — The glitter trap. The poisoned compliment. Date rape as a debut. “Why’d she get in the truck?” She was never asked what she wanted—only judged for how late she got home.
Track 2: ON MY KNEES — Freeze response dressed in manners. The martyr voice they praise. The pretty mouth they use. She’s not praying; she’s gathering fire.
Track 3: REMEMBER I’M HIM — The predator’s prayer. I write from his side. He calls it art. The frame is a trap; the camera is a gag. The lens was a leash. The flash was a freeze.
Track 4: GRIP — When silence is survival. When God is the gag. Threats, vanished names, the bruise behind the joke. What obedience looks like when it’s holy and haunted.
Track 5: ENOUGH — The last attempt. Ten men got away with it; I used to go limp. This time I moved. I rose. He didn’t follow me home—I let him in. I didn’t go quiet. I didn’t stay still.
Track 6: ORCHID SKIN — Tinder lie. Coke night. Bathroom mirror. Panic, flashbacks, breath math. I survive the night and tell it now.
Track 7: UNiCORN — A love letter to the man who stayed: gentleness with a spine, co-regulation over chaos, and the vow to raise our son where “soft” means strong.
The rest is coming. One song a week. Sixteen mirrors. Sixteen ghosts. Sixteen locks unlatching. GORGEOUS is the door. I’m the one holding it open.
UNiCORN – Lyrics
[Intro]
The one who stayed
Unicorn found me.
Maps my PTSD,
Loves me anyway
[Verse 1]
Hot plate coil glows; bagel pops; knife scrapes toast
Grape nebula on a borrowed plate, peanut-butter coat
He says, “Happy, healthy, home,” into the day
Traffic rattle’s window seams; eviction’s glued to our name
Rats chew on the beams, sirens line our brains.
We moved far away, no family, no friends to name.
Crowbar under bed from first night knock and warning shot.
Aimee guards my belly; Morty’s at the door, cat on the job
I called it “travel-sick”; we didn’t know it was our son—pregnant
He left his art in Omaha; his fingers twitch for needle and pigment.
No Wi-Fi, blacked-out media; we packed the car with what would fit.
He rides my triggers, rides the fights; that unicorn grit.
He doesn’t rush hope—hums low while black mold crawls the ceiling above.
One step from homeless, card-trick lock; Unicorn holds the threshold against the shove.
PTSD boots in my bones, easy trigger; he hears it rise then foam—
In the loud of everything broken, he makes breakfast feel like poems.
[Pre-Chorus]
Unicorn reads the flinch; unwinds me from within.
Unicorn asks, “Do you want to? Is this okay?”—waits till I begin.
Unicorn lets me untangle the past, choose what to unpin.
Unicorn shows up a thousand small ways; my body lets me in.
[Chorus]
Unicorn—happy, healthy, home.
Unicorn—horn-as-lighthouse, he uncurses me.
He maps my storms; mane like mercy.
He stands—I settle; old alarms disperse me.
He slows—I soften; he stays till fears reverse me.
Unicorn—Unicorn—
He stays; I rewire
Unicorn
[Verse 2]
Our bed is safe; but my body still runs old scripts.
Old triggers rise—freeze looks polite; he waits for yes on my lips.
Pump parts dry on the nightstand; our son asleep; I’m touched-out
History walks in without knocking; my ribs pull tight into shout
He logs my twitch, keeps exits lit—“we can stop anytime”
“Do you want to?”—“Is this okay?”—never crosses the line
My shoulders drop; mind clicks off; I’m back in us
I used to use sex like a seatbelt; now the belt is trust.
He touches shoulder before hips; knows my mind swarms
He never treats confusion like consent; he pauses, and I warm
Unicorn under pressure—gentleness is his charm.
Rats still chew the walls; outside yells—he touches my arm.
Unicorn steady—under heat and mold, he stays un-afraid.
Consent and care get braided—we slow the pace
Outside sirens, fistfights; inside newborn and hush.
I sleep because this Unicorn holds us
[Bridge]
He misses his craft, this I know:
he’s art in motion—happy, healthy, home.
He sketches safety till the fear is withdrawn.
Flashbacks flood the frame; he holds the focus—redrawn.
He delivers our son; no doctors, no gown.
peanut butter jelly palette swirls on wheat—new stencil laid down.
Consent is composition; he signs it with presence.
I keep a lamp lit for his craft’s return to essence.
[Chorus]
Unicorn—happy, healthy, home.
Unicorn—Horn-as-lighthouse, un-curses me.
He maps my storms, Mane like mercy
He stands—I settle; old alarms disperse me.
He slows—I soften; he stays till fears reverse me.
Unicorn—Unicorn—
He stays; I rewire
Unicorn
[Outro]
I used to be scared of doors; he checks them now—I breathe
Unicorn found me.
