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.
SARAH (Funeral for a Ghost) – Lyrics
This blog is the lyrical eulogy for SARAH—the ghost self who survived by vanishing. It tells the story of a girl who performed peace, smiled through pain, and died inward so the future could breathe. Through lyrics, ritual, and somatic breakdown, this piece names the cost of self-erasure and the beauty of walking away. It's not about shame—it’s about release, choice, and fire.
SPELL IN THE SPINE – Lyrics
This is a song for the ones whose bodies broke the silence before their mouths could. Spell in the Spine names back pain as a sacred messenger—a Featherlock—where the nervous system stores unspoken truths. Inspired by Sarno, Ozanich, and Louise Hay, Loui Crow transforms chronic ache into chant, and diagnosis into a liberation spell. This track teaches the listener how to listen to the body like a holy book.
I Don’t Have to Hold It All Migraine Medicine — Lyrics
This blog shares the full lyrics to “I Don’t Have to Hold It All,” a somatic healing anthem for migraine sufferers and emotional over-carriers. It reframes chronic pain not as a weakness but as a sacred message from the nervous system. With affirmations and breath-based repetition, this piece gives voice to held tension, unspoken boundaries, and the emotional weight stored in the body. It’s a permission slip to stop holding everything—and start listening instead.