SARAH (Funeral for a Ghost) – Lyrics

She stayed soft when violated.
Fawned through lies and pain,
Made her body take the blame.

🖤 SARAH — Funeral for My Ghost

Obituary in song:

INTRO
I’m mourning.
They’re still alive.
But I’m the one that died.
I’m mourning.
They’re still alive.
But I’m the one that died.

VERSE 1
She was a whisper with a war cry,
Folded words and fibro eyes.
Carried silence like a spine,
Every smile rehearsed in line.

She played peace like a symphony,
While her body screamed agony.
Boots full of static ache,
She knew the cost of staying fake.

PRE‑CHORUS
And yeah, she wanted to die —
Since before she knew what living meant.
Curled in corners, chalk outline,
Waiting for a world that never bent.

CHORUS
But she didn’t fall apart — she fell inward.
Lit a match in a locked-up whisper.
Didn’t disappear — she detonated.
Called the dark by name and waited.

Now I wake where she gave in,
Breathe the breath she left within.
She died so I could finally see —
She walked the fire to set me free.

VERSE 2
She kept her rage in Tupperware,
Labeled: “Smile if they ever care.”
Held her breath through every test,
Thought love was being second best.

Praised for bleeding quietly,
For shrinking just politely.
Clapped for grace with severed wings,
Conditioned into people‑pleasing.

PRE‑CHORUS
They called her broken. She translated.
She stayed soft when violated.
Fawned through lies and pain,
Made her body take the blame.

CHORUS
But she didn’t fall apart — she fell inward.
Lit a match in a locked-up whisper.
Didn’t disappear — she detonated.
Called the dark by name and waited.

Now I dance where she once froze,
Speak the “no” she never chose.
She died so I could finally feel —
Now I write the wounds she couldn’t heal.

BRIDGE
No flinch in the mirror now.
No teeth grinding down the doubt.
She quit the rooms where her name felt wrong,
Taught me silence can still be strong.

They said she was too much.
Too loud. Too fragile. Too soft. Too proud.
But all she was, was always enough.
In a world that made her forget her love.

FINAL CHORUS
She didn’t die ashamed — she died free.
Laid her war mask down in peace.
And I wear her fire on my skin,
A living grave she rose within.

She didn’t die — she transitioned.
Taught me that grief is beautiful.
Now I’m the voice she couldn’t be —
A holy spark that burned through me.

OUTRO
Goodbye, Sarah.
You were the flame. The storm. The ache. The sacred name.
You were never too much. You were just the whole truth before it had a place to bloom.
And now —
You live in this room.

I’m mourning / they’re still alive / but I’m the one that died…
Sarah
Sarah
Sarah
Rest in peace.
You’re free.

The Story Behind the Song

I wrote “SARAH” a year ago. It was the first song that cracked me open. Before this song, I was still trying to be the girl who smiled through everything, who performed “I’m fine” like a prayer, who believed that love meant shrinking until I disappeared.

Sarah wasn’t a character. She was me. The version of me who lived in other people’s expectations. She played the flute because I thought my dad wanted a good little girl — not the one who secretly longed to sing and dance. She joined the military because I didn’t know how to ask for what I really wanted. She became a photographer, a hair stylist, a makeup artist — always making other people beautiful, always staying behind the camera, always out of the light.

I tried to be a model once. My dad told me I wasn’t pretty enough. So I stopped wanting that. I gave my shine away.

For years, I wrote songs in high school. A whole hard drive full of them. Then the hard drive crashed. I lost everything. I joined the Air Force, and trauma swallowed the next fifteen years. I never wrote another lyric. I believed that part of me had died.

Then last year, someone told me about Suno. I could record a seed of my voice, write my own words, and create the exact sound I had always heard in my head. The sound Sarah wanted to sing. I pressed play on the first generation, and I sobbed. She finally had a voice.

I wrote “SARAH” as her eulogy. I didn’t know I was also writing the first track of a whole funeral.

From FVNERAL to Crow Family

That one song opened a door. I kept walking. I wrote 27 more songs — an entire album called FVNERAL of False Selves. Each track is a ghost I buried: the Hesitator, the Deflector, the Smotherer, the Should, the Mimic. Twenty‑two ghosts, four gates, one seal. A complete ritual walk through the reversed Tarot.

Burying those ghosts made space for something new. Inside me, the little one — Sarah’s inner child — started to stir. She had never been allowed to play, to rage, to rest without guilt. She watched my son Truman stomp his feet and laugh and throw his head back, and she wondered: “Is that allowed?”

So I wrote a second album: Crow Family. Six external figures — Mother Crow, Father Crow, Sister Crow, Brother Crow, Lover Crow, Child Crow — each one a safe other I can call on when the old storms rise. I don’t have to parent my own inner child anymore. I just press play, and the family shows up.

What I Wish I Had Done

I wish I had pursued singing and dancing. Sarah always wanted to move, to be loud, to take up space. Instead, I picked up a flute. I thought that’s what my father wanted. I’m not angry at him — he was doing his best, and I was a child who didn’t know how to ask for what I needed. But I learned to hide the “girly” parts of me, to leave the funny and the smart to my brothers, to stand behind the camera and help everyone else shine.

Now I’m learning to step in front of the lens. Not because I’m pretty enough or good enough or any of the old measures. Just because I have something to say, and the little one inside deserves to be heard.

A Living Grave

Sarah didn’t die in vain. She walked the fire so I could rise. Every time I sing, every time I write a lyric, every time I stomp my feet and let anger move without damage — I am carrying her flame forward.

This song is her grave. It’s also her resurrection.

If you have a version of yourself that you buried to survive — know that you can mourn her. You can write her a eulogy. And then you can become the one who writes the next chapter.

She was never too much. She was just the whole truth before it had a place to bloom.

Crows on the wire, keeping watch over every funeral and every birth. 🐦‍⬛

A note from the nest:
FVNERAL of False Selves is streaming everywhere. Crow Family is coming soon — the album for the little one inside. I write the lyrics, I record my voice as a seed, and Suno brings the songs to life. I’m not a singer. I’m a writer who finally found a door. If you’ve got words stuck in you, this is another door. You don’t have to sing them. You just have to let them out.

— Loui Cro