Now Why Does He Do That? - Lyrics

Title: Now Why Does He Do That? - Track 13 of GORGEOUS album
Artist: Loui Crow
Streaming: All platforms (Spotify, Youtube, Apple, etc.)
📱 TikTok/FB/Youtube/IG: @louicrow

Behind the Song: Why Does He Do That?

(This is not a song about hating men.)

This piece wasn’t written out of bitterness. It’s not a war cry against masculinity. It’s not even fiction.

It’s my story. Or rather — stories.
Because this song is a composite of three different past relationships I’ve lived through.
Not one abuser. Not one experience.
But a layered reality I merged into a single voice — to capture something that goes deeper than one person.

What inspired the song?

This piece was directly inspired by the book Why Does He Do That? by Lundy Bancroft. (FREE PDF version of the book)

If you haven’t read it, Bancroft is a counselor who’s spent decades working with abusive men, particularly in domestic and relational settings. His book dives into the psychological patterns of control, manipulation, gaslighting, and emotional domination — long before anything ever gets physical (and sometimes it never does).

It’s not just a book. It’s a mirror — one I wasn’t ready for until I was.

When I read it, I didn’t just see him.
I also saw me — the version of me that stayed. The one who rationalized. The one who bent until she disappeared. The one who felt like the villain for trying to survive.

About the song.

I wanted the lyrics to sit in the moment — not retell from safety.
That’s why it’s all written in the present tense.

The confusion.
The blame.
The ritual of denial and apology.
The subtle ways abuse rewires your sense of self.

Some of the lines came word-for-word from memory. Others pulled from the ache of things I never said aloud. It’s raw. But it’s real.

I repeat the question, “Why does he do that?” in the chorus — because that question becomes a mantra in these relationships. And in the outro, I land here:

He never needed to hit me to make me fade.
Now the mirror won’t hold me—the edges fray.
My memory gaslights me back into place.

Because the bruises people can’t see are often the hardest to name.

This isn’t about hating men.

Let me say it again: I have a wonderful husband. He is gentle, loving, respectful — and the healthiest relationship of my life. This song is not about him. It’s not about men as a group. (I wrote a song about him, “Unicorn”

Yes, I say “he” throughout the song — because my experiences involved men. But abuse isn’t gender-specific. Anyone can be a victim. Anyone can be an abuser. Abuse is about power, not biology. I’ve even seen traits in myself that mirrored emotional manipulation, especially when I was still unhealed.

This isn’t a takedown. It’s a testimony.
This isn’t a judgment. It’s the journal entries I never shared.
This isn’t a scream. It’s a whisper that finally made it to the surface.

If this resonates...

You’re not alone.
You’re not imagining it.
You’re not overreacting.

If something in this song feels familiar, I encourage you to read Why Does He Do That?. It’s helped thousands of survivors put words to wounds they couldn’t describe.

This song is for those still in it.
For those clawing their way out.
For those who’ve left — but still hear echoes.

Thank you for listening.
Thank you for letting me be loud, even in the quietest parts of me.
This is what healing sounds like.

LYRICS

[Intro]
He taught me to vanish loud—
To smile while the ground caved in.
My name faded from my own mouth.

[Verse 1]
Cut my laugh quick, choke the will—twelve-hour shift, I step in slow.
The house a mess—he’s gaming, eyes glazed cold.
I say, “Let’s hang out, clean up this place,” he doesn’t pause, won’t look my way.
Says I’m ungrateful. Then I’m a bitch. That’s all it takes to end my day.
His birthday next—I cook for hours. Roast and potatoes, his Irish way.
Table’s set, the candles play—he walks in full, says he ate on the way.
I say, “You ate?”—he snaps, grabs the food I made and dumps it in the trash.
The plate explodes. He shoves me hard—my back meets tile with a thrash.
takes a bat to the walls.  Our dog so scared he pees by the door
7 A.M.—I walk in quiet. He’s wrapped in my blanket on the floor
The laptop slams shut. I say, “I saw it.” He says, “I didn’t. I don’t do that.”
The room goes thin. He says, “You know you’re the most beautiful, I’ve seen.”
But I know what it was—porn on the screen.
A 'bad wife' if I ask. A threat if I object.
A ghost if I don’t. A fight if I track.
I name the push—and he shoves me back.

[Pre-Chorus]
He plays the victim, I pay the dues.
I mark the trick—then comes the fuse.
He builds the bomb, then lights my doubt.
Smile in the blast, while I crawl out.

[Chorus]
Why does he do that? Calm’s a costume—rage is a blade.
He says, “You’re overthinking”— rewrites what I say.
Why does he do that? Says it’s “love” and tightens the cage.
He says, “You’re too sensitive”— laughs in my face.
Why does he do that? Gaslight glows, the burn doesn’t fade.
He says, “It’s nothing”— I still shake.
Why does he do that? I speak up— I’m the one to blame.
Why does he do that?

[Verse 2]
talks about his trauma mid argument—I’m the villain for being upset.
says, “You vowed to stay”—like I’m God’s marionette.
touches me more in public than he does at home.
Says it’s in my head; the room shrinks like wet denim sewn.
has affairs and denies them—eyes blank, mouth flat.
does cocaine and hides it, wipes his nose, blames the draft.
out with friends, drinks and dice—if I text a friend, I’ve “crossed a line.”
Phone screen wipes when I walk past—he laughs with boys; I get confined.
I see hair I don’t own on his shirt—just one more souvenir.
His feelings flood the room; mine never get to steer.
He writes about me in his journal—leaves it open where I sit.
Then gets mad when I read it.Says it’s my fault he writes all this shit.
Says I’m the curse God tossed on his lawn.
Says God sees a sinner—I’ll rot in hell if I move on.
He stays out all night, won’t say where he’s gone.
He walks in singing, like I slept just fine—the shadow comes home.

[Chorus]
Why does he do that? Calm’s a costume—rage is a blade.
He says, “You’re overthinking”— rewrites what I say.
Why does he do that? Says it’s “love” and tightens the cage.
He says, “You’re too sensitive”— laughs in my face.
Why does he do that? Gaslight glows, the burn doesn’t fade.
He says, “It’s nothing”— I still shake.
Why does he do that? I speak up— I’m the one to blame.
Why does he do that?

[Verse 3]
I wake on his lap—he’s watching porn like I’m not there.
I throw his phone, it cracks the wall—he just stares.
I’m shaking, gone—he finds my car, GPS-tracked.
Leaves flowers and notes. Says, “I know where you're at.”
He says he’s changed. Says he knows he scares me—but that’s love, right?
He says I’ll end up dead in a trunk. Then begs me not to leave that night.
Loses control, then says I’m the one brooding.
Tells me no one else would want me—then cries like I’m doing the wounding.
He doesn’t hold me—he holds me hostage. wraps it in the word “forever.”
Says he’d die without me—then swears I’ll go first, like that makes it better.
I say, “That felt off”—he says, “Define what you mean.”
Now I’m defending the word, not the thing that I’ve seen.
He stays calm like a priest while I fall apart.
Says, “You’re the cruel one”—with my bruises still art.
I try to land the facts—he lets them fall.
Then builds a case like I imagined it all.

[Chorus]
Why does he do that? Calm’s a costume—rage is a blade.
He says, “You’re overthinking”— rewrites what I say.
Why does he do that? Says it’s “love” and tightens the cage.
He says, “You’re too sensitive”— laughs in my face.
Why does he do that? Gaslight glows, the burn doesn’t fade.
He says, “It’s nothing”— I still shake.
Why does he do that? I speak up— I’m the one to blame.
Why does he do that?

[Outro]
He never needed to hit me to make me fade.
Now the mirror won’t hold me—the edges fray.
My memory gaslights me back into place.