Sorry Was a Spell (Bury the Ghost)

🪶 LOUI CROW LYRIC BLOG

SORRY WAS A SPELL (Bury the Ghost) – Lyrics
Title: Sorry Was a Spell (Bury the Ghost)
Artist: Loui Crow
Streaming: All platforms
📱 TikTok: @louicrow

🖤 ABOUT THE SONG — Sorry Was a Spell (Bury the Ghost)

This one’s for the girl at the train station—and every version of her that still lives inside me. The ones who say "sorry" like a password. Like a pre-apology for breathing too loud. This isn’t just a habit. It’s a nervous system strategy. A survival code wired deep. When a child senses danger—not always fists, often just disapproval—they learn to please before they’re hurt. That’s what “sorry” becomes: a preemptive shape-shift. A safety spell. The body remembers.

“Sorry” isn’t language. It’s reflex. Vagal. It curls in the throat, rides the breath, wraps around the tongue like armor. And when repeated, it grooves into the brain as a self-soothing loop—a behavioral pattern reinforced by cortisol, fear, and social reward. You say “sorry,” and the tension drops. For a moment. You get to stay. But over time, you shrink. You forget the shape of your true voice.

This piece is a burial. A ritual interruption. A refusal to let the body keep bowing out of its own light. I met her—a flash of freckled skin, a tremble in her posture—and something ancient in me remembered the cost of silence. So I let my voice speak first. And louder. Not just for her—but for every inner girl who still flinches after joy. Who folds after brightness. Who whispers her name like it’s dangerous.

This isn’t a performance. This is a spell-break. The moment I caught the ghost mid-sentence and spoke my name louder. Every line is a neuro-emotional flare, a synaptic rewire, a nervous system claim. You are safe to be real. You are safe to be loud. You are safe to take up space. That’s what the song does. That’s what she heard.

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

🔥 CROW BODY-BREAKDOWN — What “Sorry” Really Is

"Sorry" isn’t humility. It’s a leash. A spell slipped between the teeth of powerful women to make them bite their own tongue. It coils in the belly like inherited shame and hums in the throat like static. It’s the tension in your jaw when you enter a room. The impulse to shrink before you shine.

This song breaks the loop. It names the ghost. It lays it in fire.

🗣️ Crow Affirmation:
"I bury the ghost. I keep the flame. I take up space. I say my name."

🕯️ Ritual: Flame Reclaim
Sit with your back against a wall. Feel the support.

Place one hand over your throat, the other over your heart.

Whisper: "I am not the sorry they gave me."

Exhale loudly. Let your voice out—even just a hum.

Say it again: "I bury the ghost. I keep the flame. I take up space. I say my name."

🖤 CROW TRUTH

They taught us to apologize for the wildfire in our blood.
But we were never here to bow.
We were born to burn holy.
To speak without shrinking.
To take up space like a storm with a name.

🖋 LYRICS — Sorry Was a Spell (Bury the Ghost)

[Intro – Spoken Word]
This is for the girl at the train station…
and every other one who said ‘sorry’
like it would soften the fact
she dared to exist out loud.

[Verse 1]
She asked if I was easy to find—
but her eyes were asking something older than time.
She didn’t see ink.
She saw fire in form.
She saw someone who survived being born.
She studied the scene.
Watched every woman
for what it could mean—
how to stand,
how to laugh,
how to breathe through the wrath,
how to live in the light
without leaving a path.
She said “sorry”
right after she spoke.
And I knew that ghost.
The one that chokes
girls down to silence after they glow—
like joy is a sin and visibility’s a rope.

[Pre-Chorus]
I saw her fold her arms over her belly,
just like I used to when the world turned deadly.
That isn’t style. That’s a built-in shield—
a question curled tight: “Am I safe to be real?”

[Chorus]
I said: I can’t hide anymore.
And that’s what she heard.
Not a greeting.
A spell.
Not small talk. A word.
I saw her.
I loved her immediately.
And I am living proof
you can survive your own flame completely.

[Hook Repeat]
I said: I won’t fold anymore.
And that’s what she heard.
Not a whisper. A roar.
Not a greeting. A spell.
I can’t hide anymore.
I can’t hide anymore.
I AM THE PROOF.
YOU CAN SURVIVE YOUR OWN FLAME.

[Post-Hook Insert]
“Sorry” was the ghost-name tied to our fire.
I cut it loose from their wires.
Buried it deep—now it sings in my choir.

[Refrain Insert]
Sorry was a spell that kept you small—
I broke it with my voice so you don’t have to fall.

[Verse 2]
She didn’t know me.
But her bones did.
Her body leaned forward
like it found its kin.
She wasn’t just looking—
She was remembering
a version of herself
who stopped pretending.
And me?
I didn’t need a card in hand.
I was the altar.
I was the stand.
You don’t have to fold just to earn their care.
You don’t have to shrink for them to say it’s fair.
You can be loud. You can take up air.
You can wear your fire like a crown of prayer.

[Bridge]
I remember meeting mirrors
like they'd flinch or lie.
I remember saying sorry
just for catching my own eye.
I remember the ache of wanting to be seen
but fearing the cost of what that might mean.
She didn’t just see tattoos—
She saw her own name in my spine.
And that wave she gave me?
It was a soul signing a line.

[Spoken – Add to Bridge]
I didn’t just wave—
I saluted like kin.
'Cause I know what it takes
to look up and begin.
In a world that trains you
to silence your spark,
to whisper your name,
and survive in the dark.

[New Spoken Build]
Sorry was a spell they taught us to say—
but we’re writing ghost names in the ash today.

[Post-Chorus Spoken Chant]
Sorry was the ghost name they gave to our fire.
I buried it under the beat.
And this time—no one’s digging it back up.

[Final Chorus]
I can’t hide anymore.
And that was the vow.
A map. A flare.
I passed it down.
She was asking:
“Will I survive if I become myself?”
And I said:
“Yes. But it’ll cost everything else.”
You’ll lose their comfort.
You’ll lose their ease.
But you’ll get your name back.
You’ll get your spine freed.
I can’t hide anymore.
And now—
neither can she.

[Outro]
You don’t have to fold just to earn their care.
You don’t have to shrink for them to say it’s fair.
You can be loud. You can take up air.
You can wear your fire like a crown of prayer.

[Final Spoken Line]
This song is for the redhead at the train station.
The one who said “sorry” like it was armor.
We saw it.
We broke it.
We laid it in flame.
Now we bloom louder—
and sorry forgets our name.

I can’t hide anymore.
I can’t hide anymore.
I AM THE PROOF.
YOU CAN SURVIVE YOUR OWN FLAME.

💔 What pain or struggle is this blog addressing?
The inherited reflex to apologize for existing—especially for being seen, loud, or alive in a feminine body.
It meets the wound of self-erasure, the quiet ache of constantly shrinking to stay safe.
By the end, the reader feels the shift: a name reclaimed, a spine uncurled, a ghost laid to rest.
The soul win? A vow to be seen without shrinking.