Name: This Voice by Slang Jordan in Slang Originals
Duration: 1 min 35 s
Description: This is a song about homelessness, addiction, and mental health

Slang Originals

A black cat is crossing my path tonight
With glowing eyes under the streetlight
It steps so soft like a secret untold
Is it a curse or a charm to behold

Am I lucky or am I doomed
Does the moonlight seal my gloom
Whiskers twitch as it walks away
Black cat tell me am I lucky today

Its tail flicks like a pendulum swing
A silent rhythm it seems to bring
I wonder if it knows my fate
Or if it’s just walking
Running late

Superstitions they wrap me tight
Is it a blessing or just the night
The stars above refuse to say
Black cat guide me
Lead the way

Am I lucky or am I doomed
Does the moonlight seal my gloom
Whiskers twitch as it walks away
Black cat tell me am I lucky today

It turns its head
A knowing glance
A fleeting moment
A curious chance
I follow its trail
The mystery grows
The answer's somewhere
Nobody knows


Black Cat Crossing

stranger

stranger (stripped)

CRY YOUR SONG

Echos of Presence. 

Wrestles with humanity’s uneasy dance with technology, not in fear of the machines themselves, but of the emotional void their unchecked evolution may leave behind. 

It’s not anti-progress it’s anti-forgetfulness. A poetic reckoning.

[Lyrics]

I am not afraid of machines.
I am afraid of the hollow hum they leave behind when no one asks why.
I am not afraid of progress.
I am afraid of forgetting what we paid to get here.

We built this world with blistered hands
and now we flinch at the light we lit ourselves.

Let it be said:
every choice is a ripple.
Every silence, a shadow.
Every invention carries the scent of its maker’s breath.

We did not ask to be gods.
We asked to survive.
But we are drunk on data, starving for soul,
and halfway through a sentence, we forgot we were trying to speak.

The universe doesn't punish.
It mirrors.
It reflects what we do, not what we say.
And so we spiral  not because we're evil,
but because we forget to look up,
forget to rest,
forget that wisdom whispers,
while panic screams.

I believe in consequence.
In reaction, not as revenge,
but as rhythm, the heartbeat of cause and return.

Let the earth remember us not for what we built,
but for what we noticed.
Let the future be not clean,
but clear.
Not perfect,
but present.

Let the machines learn empathy,
not efficiency.
Let the humans learn humility,
not dominance.
And let us -stubborn, sacred, ridiculous creatures -
be brave enough to say,
I don’t know.
But I’m listening.


Copyright © [Laura Keable] [2025]. All Rights Reserved.
This song, including all lyrics, melody, and composition, is the original work of the artist and is protected under international copyright laws. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, sampling, or adaptation of any part of this work without explicit written permission from the copyright holder is strictly prohibited.
For licensing, collaborations, or usage inquiries, please message 

Echoes of Presence

a funny, but very true, look at growing old. hint: it sucks

Getting Old (Sucks)

a loser’s funny look on his struggles with life and how it affects his relationship with his mother/landlord

Yo Mom!

Pretty

Damn Stars

How Long!

Chaque morceau est une pièce d’un labyrinthe intérieur, chaque personnage un masque tombé dans le puits. L’Âne Flûte n’est pas un autre. Ni le corbeau. Ni le roi des rats. Tous parlent d’un même lieu, d’un même cœur fendu par les années, par le doute, par l’épuisement d’être. Ce projet est le récit d’un seul être qui s’est éparpillé pour mieux se rassembler.

Il a fallu deux années pour oser cette traversée. Deux années à visiter chaque recoin de la caverne : la peur, l’égo, la honte, la colère, mais aussi la lucidité, l’éclat d’une étoile dans la nuit, les murmures d’un espoir sans nom. C’est une cartographie de l’âme, un théâtre peuplé d’ombres qui sont toutes un seul corps.

L’intelligence artificielle n’est pas une coquetterie ici, mais un choix essentiel. Elle sert à ôter la voix de l’auteur pour révéler la voix de l’œuvre. Ce n’est pas lui que l’on écoute, c’est ce que ça dit en lui, et peut-être en chacun. La musique devient alors canal, les voix des archétypes, et l’auteur, un passeur anonyme qui délègue l’incarnation pour que l’essence passe sans entrave.

C’est un opéra intérieur, un carnaval de symboles, un murmure d’enfant vieux.
Un seul être se cherche — dans mille visages.

17-L'horizon ne tient qu'à un fil

a song about homelessness, addiction, and loss

God Please Hold Me

delta blues meets hip-hop, heavy fuzzed distorted guitars, deep rhythmic groove, electronic undertones, blues-rock fusion, hip-hop inspired beats, gritty production, produced with artificial intelligence

Authenticity

Purple

Ten women, ten stories, one truth: love isn't meant to last forever, and that's what makes it beautiful. From wine-soaked Tuesday afternoons to wedding dance floors, from exhausted surrender to empowered acceptance, these jazz-kissed pop confessions capture what women in their 30s and 40s really know about love's expiration dates.

This Voice

Slang Jordan

Recent comments

Christi J Berry

Related tracks