FLINCH - Lyrics

Title: Flinch
Artist: Loui Crow
Streaming: All platforms
📱 TikTok: @louicrow

🖤 ABOUT THE SONG — FLINCH

This one shook itself alive. I didn’t write it—I survived it. FLINCH is the sound the mirror makes when you finally look. It’s a body-howl. A rage-psalm. A rake-swinging answer to every quiet death they tried to call healing. I made this when I wanted to die, and posted it when I didn’t. The comment said: “Please consider a self-inflicted gunshot.” I considered it. Then I wrote back with blood.

This is for the scream that trembles before it lands. For the good girls with ghosts in their ribs. For every child who stared at the door handle and wondered how fast a car could take you. This is rake music. Mirror music. Attention reclamation in a world that feeds on silence.

I wrote this because flinching means you're still here. Because even when the whole world tells you to go inside and be small, there's a howl that won't die easy. I didn’t want to live. But I did. And this is what it sounds like.

👁 Influences: Dr. John Sarno (TMS), Louise Hay (mirror work), Bashar (emotional GPS), and the raw data of a comment section weaponized against women who grieve out loud.

🔥 CROW BODY-BREAKDOWN — What FLINCHING Really Is

Flinching is a nervous system pact. A flash of YES in the face of threat. It’s not weakness. It’s witness. The body knows. She arches before the blow. She guards the last ember. She remembers. The ones who mock your flinch have forgotten how to feel. They've calcified around their own silence.

But the flinch isn’t the end. It’s the fuse.

When you flinch, you’re still choosing. You’re still here. Your body is louder than the lie that says you deserve this.

🗣️ Crow Affirmation:
“I flinch. I feel. I flame. I heal.”

🖤 CROW TRUTH

They call it drama.
I call it survival.
I rake to remember what stayed alive.
Shame flinches.
But truth swings back.

🖋 LYRICS — FLINCH

[Intro, spoken soft]
“Please consider a self-inflicted gunshot.”
They wrote that like a gift.
I almost unwrapped it.
I wanted to die. I never wanted to live.
But I flinch. And flinching means I’m still alive.

[Verse 1]
The mirror glass turned cold, and the shame crawled in.
I started checking for demons in my reflection,
Told I was too much, too loud, too tender,
They'd rather I smile than make them remember.

[Hook]
FLINCH—when they say you’re possessed.
FLINCH—when they laugh at your mess.
FLINCH—when the lamb starts a riot.
FLINCH—when the silence won’t quiet.
FLINCH—when the lamb finds her blade.
FLINCH—when the good girl gets flayed.

[Verse 2]
They said “cut the grass.”
I said “dig the grave.”
They said “act your class.”
I said “watch me rage.”
They stare in the store, and I know that face—
That purse-grip panic, that “danger” gaze.
“You’re a mess in a dress.”
“You’re animus-possessed.”

[Hook]
I flinch. But I rise with it.
I burn. But I write with it.
I rage. But I breathe through it.
I scream. But I dance with it.
They call it cringe—I call it code.
They call it weird—I carry the load.
You think I'm obsessed with my own reflection?
I have to be. I was trained for self-rejection.
They say it’s “crazy” when I kiss my face?
That’s okay—I like healing in public space.

[Verse 3]
I flinched.
Held my breath ‘til it burned through my teeth.
Backseat blur on a freeway bend.
I was nine when I wanted it all to end.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t cry.
I just stared at the road and imagined I’d die.
I thought:
What if I just opened the door?
Let the pavement take me.
Just roll out. Take me, Lord.
What if a tire found my skull?
Would it be fast?
Would the ghost stall?
Even at ten, I planned my way
To trade my breath for a soft grave.
I wanted to walk into traffic. No scream.
Just headlights erasing the in-between.
“Don’t look too long—you’ll hate what you see.”
But I stared down the glass and it mirrored back me.
The kid in the car.
My neck to the blade.
The bottle I drained.
The price that I paid.
The rope in the closet.
The pills that I stacked.
The woman who stayed
When the whole sky cracked.

[Verse 4]
One woman shouted, “I’ll kill you and your son.”
Mid-sidewalk stroll. No place to run.
No signal. No mercy. Just terror let fly.
She saw my tattoos and screamed, “You should die.”
They see pain I never sugarcoat.
I bleed truth raw in a world remote.
I show up loud where they hush the throat.
Yes, I want attention.
That’s how I started to live.
I gave it to me—the part that hid.
I gave it to the ache. I gave it to the skin.
I gave it to the breath I kept locked in.
I don’t need applause.
I need witness.
I need the sound of my voice in the stillness.
I need to post when the ghost still lingers.
I need to film with trembling fingers.
Metal rake in my shaking hand.
Backyard scream in a ghost-trap trance.
Whacked my shin ‘til the blood came hot.
Didn’t stop, just let it clot.
But I don’t break—
I burn myself.
Tied the rake to grief like crucifix.
Not to mourn—but to scorch the scripts.
I rage because this pain is real.
This is for the mirror that watched me kneel.
This is for the hush I had to keep.
This is for the curb I longed to meet.
This is for the child with blood-wet teeth.
This is for the dark that held my breath—
A lullaby wired straight to death.

[Bridge]
They say in the comments:
“Narcissist.”
“Put the rake down. Get a therapist.”
“She needs attention. Drama-fed.”
“This ain’t deep. She’s messed in the head.”
“Cringe-core queen.”
“Why’s this witch on my FYP screen?”
“This would slap if she hadn’t lived.”
“She clings to grief like it’s a gift.”
“Call the cops.”
“She’s going insane.”
“Get this freak off the algorithm chain.”

I flinch. But I scream back.
I flinch. But I stay intact.
I speak for me,
The one who prayed to die.

[Hook]
Put the rake down.
Say that again.
They tell a woman to stop
When she starts to mend.
They flinch at the howl
But ignore the harm—
Then mock the ritual
That calms the alarm.
They said:
“Use the rake right.”
“Go clean your yard.”
I say: I’m clearing the part that left me scarred.
Put the rake down, baby, go inside,
Hide your howl, be small, and kind.
Swallow storms, make sure you smile,
They’ll love you more if you stay mild.
Put the rake down, baby, hush your rants,
Girls don’t scream, they fold their hands.
It’s just a phase, you’ll grow out loud,
But not too loud. won’t make them proud.

[Hook – Final Refrain]
I rake because it moves the ache.
I rake because the silence breaks.
I rake because no man alive
gets to shame how I survived.
I flinch.
Then I swing the rake.
“I wanted to die. I never wanted to live.”
But I’m glad I did.