I held your fear like it was mine...
I held your fear like it was mine...
A paper tiger..
I held your fear like it was mine...

I held your fear like it was mine
Tried to be the warning sign
You saw a wolf—I knew the lie
A paper beast dressed up to bite

You spoke my worth in quiet tones
Built me up with brittle bones
And I roared like I was made of steel
But nothing I said ever felt real

I thought I scared the dark away
Thought I was the storm you'd never tame
But I was paper in the rain
Folded sharp, then torn again
Not your armor
Just your shadow
Not the threat—just what you’d outgrow

I held your fear like it was mine..
I held your fear like it was mine..

You stayed calm when I cracked loud
Never blinked beneath the shroud
And when I tried to rage, to shake the air
You held your breath like I wasn’t there

Now I see it all laid bare
Your steady hand, my hollow glare
I was loud, I was afraid
You were brave enough to stay

I gave you show..
I gave you show..

I thought I scared the dark away
Thought I was the storm you'd never tame
But I was paper in the rain
A warning sign you learned to name
Not your armor
Just your shadow
Not the fire—just what you’d outgrow

You needed strength
I gave you show
A paper tiger
You let go

Paper Tiger

A tender ballad about late truth told through small, familiar rooms: bowls on a table, a sweater on a chair, a note by a doorway. Guitar and piano cradle a clear vocal while light strings bloom in the final verse. The chorus turns like a key: “Now I know I love you; I’m late, but true.” Built for quiet spaces and long drives, it carries warmth, accountability, and mercy—household images turned into a vow.

Late But True

“Name This Hunger” is a quiet, human anthem about learning meaning through kindness. A warm baritone tells the story with fingerpicked acoustic guitar, pump-organ undertones, brushed snare, and bowed metal swells. The imagery is tactile—bowl, spoon, bridge, river—grounding a chorus built to be sung together. For night drives, small rooms, and anyone who needs a gentle word that still carries weight.

Name This Hunger

“My Dog’s Birthday” is a sun-soaked, feel-good acoustic jam about ditching work, firing up the grill, and throwing a full-on party for the best boy in the world. Upbeat guitars, warm harmonies, steel-drum accents, and ocean ambience create a breezy, barefoot-by-the-water vibe. It’s all ribeye on paper plates, party hats on floppy ears, mailmen shaking their heads, and one very happy human using his dog’s big day as the perfect excuse to celebrate being alive. Funny, tender, and weirdly emotional by the final chorus—it’s the soundtrack for anyone who loves their dog a little too much and is totally fine with that.

My Dog's Birthday

“Explaining Heaven” is a devastatingly tender acoustic ballad about grief, loyalty, and the one heart in the house who doesn’t understand why the door never opens anymore. Fingerpicked guitar and low, mournful cello frame the story of a dog still sprinting to the gate, checking every window, stalling at the corner where you used to meet, and wagging at strangers who almost look like you. The narrator is stuck with the impossible task of “explaining heaven to a dog” while secretly clinging to the hope that maybe the dog sees something they can’t. It’s intimate, cinematic, and quietly brutal—the kind of song that sits with you long after the last line fades.

Explaining Heaven

“Touch Up Paint” is a slow 3/4 soft rock ballad built around a jar of old blue paint on a garage shelf and a scuff on a hallway wall. The song uses a simple home repair job as a metaphor for a relationship that has faded and changed over the years. Acoustic guitar, gentle rhythm, and a warm 70s-inspired sound frame lyrics about realizing that you can’t use the past to perfectly cover the present. It’s reflective, tender, and bittersweet, ending not with a grand fix, but with the choice to leave the mark and keep the memory.

Touch Up Paint

A haunting country-folk confession sung from the point of view of a man who feels more like a scarecrow than a person—stitched up, tied down, built to warn but not to live. “Scarecrow” is all wheat fields, storm clouds, splinters, and silence as someone he loves drives away. Intimate verses, a devastating chorus, and a slow-burn bridge that feels like a match that never quite gets struck.

Scarecrow

A soul-drenched country ballad about the way thin little pages can decide everything—divorce papers, bank letters, wills, contracts, even the song itself. “Just Paper” lives where money, memory, faith, and heartbreak all meet in black ink on white. Slow-burning verses, a huge, roaring chorus, and a gritty, human vocal that lets every crack show.

Just Paper

A holy courtroom drama set to pounding drums, whispered tension, and a wall of sound.
“Case Dismissed” is a cinematic gospel-rock epic about guilt, mercy, verdicts, and the shocking moment the Judge steps down, rolls up His sleeves, and pays the price Himself. It’s dark, thunderous, intimate — a collision of courtroom imagery and crucifixion truth. For anyone who’s ever felt condemned and couldn’t believe they walked out free.

The Gavel

A cinematic power ballad about the collision that changes everything. It’s not a drift; it’s a head-on crash of lives. This song is for anyone who walked away from the fire shaken and new.

Impact

A high-octane love song for the adrenaline junkies. Driving guitars and a chorus big enough to tear the roof off. Play this one loud with the windows down.

Category Five

CYBER CHORD writes songs the way a porch light holds a night: small, steady, and impossible to ignore. I work with AI as a true co-writer, then carve the lyric by hand and shape the track in Suno. The sound leans bare and human—country roots in the soil, a little rock grain in the teeth, and a faith-lit lift that chooses hope without preaching.

These are ordinary-room hymns: rings hidden in cotton, receipt-tape strings, a dress behind rain glass, a sink that cools while you find the words. Silence is an instrument here; sometimes there’s a full bar where the house gets to breathe. If a line can’t survive a campfire and a cracked mug, it doesn’t make the song.

If you’re new, start with the heartbreakers. They don’t shout. They stay. I believe in the holiness of the everyday, and in the quiet bravery of saying the thing before “later” takes it away.

No paid promo, no playlist buys, no cover-art pitches, no dance offers, no cold DMs. If it’s a pitch, the porch light’s off. If you’re a real listener, come in soft: pick one song, leave a genuine note (lyric or timestamp welcome), and hand it to one friend. That’s how this fire stays lit.

May your road stay open, your coffee stay warm, and your day be peaceful.

Late But True

Cyber Chord