counting crows

August And Everything After

Omaha

Crazy Love (Covered)

[Intro — breath slow, steady]

Breathe in the spark.
Let it settle in the marrow.
No fear.
Only becoming.

[Verse 1]

I walked through fire with my eyes open wide,
Heat in my chest and the ashes behind.
Everything false burned away in the light,
I rose from the embers — alive in the rise.

[Pre-Chorus]

They tried to define me,
Tried to confine me,
But I am the flame —
and the flame is still rising.

[Chorus]

I burn — and I grow.
I rise — and I know.
This heat is the cradle where I become whole.
I burn — and I bloom.
I rise — and make room.
The fire’s not ending —
the fire is my room.

[Verse 2]

Pain was the teacher when the world turned away,
Silent and patient, it sculpted my shape.
I am not broken — I’m formed by the blaze,
Clearer and stronger — I walk through the flame.

[Pre-Chorus]

They didn’t create me,
They don’t get to claim me.
My name is my own —
and the fire re-names me.

[Chorus]

I burn — and I grow.
I rise — and I know.
The soot on my skin is the map of my soul.
I burn — and I bloom.
I rise — and make room.
The world tried to end me —
I rose from the wound.

[Bridge — whisper → roar]

Growth is not gentle.
Light is not clean.
Becoming is violent
when you’re shedding the machine.

But I stayed.
I breathed.
I rose.
I freed.

[Final Chorus — full, triumphant]

I burn — to begin.
I rise — from within.
The fire didn’t change me —
it revealed who I’ve been.
I burn — to expand.
I rise — and I stand.
This flame is the garden
where I grow my own land.

[Outro — controlled flame]

I am not done.
I am becoming.
Still.
Here.
Burning.
Made of Fire.

🔥 MADE OF FIRE

A quiet, cinematic folk piece built around the question of what a poppy’s colour truly means. Gentle strings and acoustic tones carry a poem of memory, sacrifice, and the weight we still carry. A reflection on war, loss, and the colours we choose to hold. Lets not fight over the colour !!

A Murder Of One

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