UGLY BEAUTIFUL — Motel Birth, Mold Walls, and Magick That Held - Lyrics

Title: Ugly Beautiful
Artist: Loui Crow
Streaming: All platforms
🔗 Linktree: https://linktr.ee/louicrow
📱 TikTok: @louicrow

🖤 ABOUT THE SONG — UGLY BEAUTIFUL
This song is a spell cast in mold and blood. It was born in a motel with blackened moldy walls and sacred breath. No clean linen. No hospital monitors. Just body, will, and the angels we summoned by name.

Ugly Beautiful doesn’t decorate the pain—it anoints it. It remembers the rot and calls it holy. It marks the moment we chose to birth outside the system, on our terms, in a collapsing room that held more God than any ward.

This is a birth song. A motel prayer. A scream into freedom. Raphael was in the bathtub. Sandalphon hummed through the drywall. And when our son arrived, the mold peeled back to make space for something divine.

🔽 SCROLL DOWN for the full lyrics.

🔥 CROW BODY-BREAKDOWN — What Birth Trauma Really Is
Birth trauma is not just pain—it’s power stripped. It’s the theft of voice in a moment made for roar. It’s sterile rooms where your body gets quiet from fear instead of fierce from knowing. This song claws back the sound.

When your birth gets claimed, not coerced, the whole nervous system recalibrates. The child comes through a portal of clarity—not collapse. That’s what this motel gave us. Ugly. Beautiful. Chosen.

🖤 CROW TRUTH
We didn’t birth in the wrong place.
We birthed in the one I felt most safe.
The veil tore.
And our boy walked through it.

📖 Want the full story behind this birth?
Read my original journal entry from that time—raw, sacred, and full of context:
→ Read the personal entry here

🖋 LYRICS — UGLY BEAUTIFUL

VERSE 1
Lived in a mold trap.
White paint bleeding black spores.
Rats in the walls and grief on the floor.
Dead porch rat offering—cat got half.
Pink tile gleaming like a psychopath’s laugh.

Cracked and blackened.
We had to scrub the mold
Before we could nest
So we could give our heads and new son
A place to rest.

Pregnant and broke.
Carried a knife.
Prayed in the tub while I bled out my life.
Lost all my friends. Lost all my plans.
Still did magick with shaking hands.

Mattress Alley.
Bring the bat.
They said you might need it.
Power blew when the Instapot breathed.
Shared heat with fleas.
One cat died. We screamed.

We had shields. We had hot water.
Still smelled death in the wet walls.
Blackberry bramble tore through skin.
But I swear to god—I loved it then.

CHORUS – chanty, hypnotic
Ugly. Beautiful.
Rot and bloom.
We built a church in a motel room.
Cried in the hallway.
Birthed in the dark.
Lit that pain like a sacred spark.

Ugly. Beautiful.
Blood and breath.
Some days feel like holy death.
And I laugh.
And I mean it.
My whole life broke—and I seen it.

VERSE 2
Didn’t go to the hospital.
Too many ghosts in white coats.
Too many hands that don’t ask.
Too many rules when I’m trying to breathe.

I feared the table more than the pain.
Feared the “lie back” more than the flames.
So we stayed in the rot.
In the cracked motel box.
Let the walls breathe mold while I burned out the lock.

Seven hours.
No needle. No mask.
Just breath and blood
and my husband’s hands.

He called the angels.
One by one.
Sandalphon, carry this boy to the sun.
Michael, stand at the door.
Crowbar scars still etched in the wood.
Gabriel, speak when the silence grows sore.
Raphael, wrap the pain in something good.
Uriel—make this ground stable again.
Metatron—light every nerve in my skin.

Sandalphon, hooded and huge,
he hummed through the walls like a distant tune.
He said: the song stuck in your head is a prayer.
He said: the cornucopia’s already there.

And we birthed a star.
In the ugliest place.
And it smelled like mold and vinegar
but it looked like grace.

On a brown tarp.

CHORUS – with echo harmony
Ugly. Beautiful.
Rot and bloom.
We built a church in a motel room.
Cried in the mirror.
Birthed in the dark.
Lit that pain like a sacred spark.

Ugly. Beautiful.
Blood and breath.
Some days feel like holy death.
And I laugh.
And I mean it.
My whole life broke—and I seen it.

OUTRO – SANDALPHON’S WHISPER
(whispered, breath-timed like 4-4-6-4)
Michael at the door.
Gabriel in the walls.
Raphael in the water.
Uriel when it falls.

Metatron—light the line.
Sandalphon—carry mine.
Cornucopia in the spine.
The spell is sealed. The boy is fine.

(repeat / layer / echo)
Michael. Gabriel. Raphael. Uriel. Metatron. Sandalphon.
The room cracked. We didn’t.
The song played. We listened.
He cried. We rose.
He’s here. We chose.

(whisper drop)
We were never alone.
The motel was a temple.
The mold was the veil.
The magick was real.

(spoken soft prayer)
Sandalphon : Please help us deliver our son safely into this world, and help us into a happy, healthy, home.