I learned to make a fist from my older brother at five,
and trust me, that skill’s kept me alive more times than I can count.
He showed me how to square up before I knew how to spell my name.
We didn’t have bedtime stories—we had bruises and broken lamps.
Mama prayed, Daddy drank, and we ducked when the shouting started.
I wore my first scar like a badge and never asked for a refund.
By seven, I knew how to take a hit and how to hide the tears.
By ten, I stopped hiding anything at all.
I’m a fighter, always have been, even when I didn’t want to be.
This skin’s beyond thin—it’s paper stretched over dynamite.
One twist, one wrong word, and I’m back in the ring.
It’s not about winning—it’s about not backing down.
I’ve thrown punches in parking lots and whispered apologies in hospital rooms.
I’ve fought for love, for pride, for silence, for nothing.
Sometimes I fight just to feel something that isn’t shame.
Sometimes I fight because it’s the only thing I trust to stay.
I’ve been hit by friends, by strangers, by truths I wasn’t ready for.
I’ve lost teeth, lost time, lost the thread of who I was supposed to be.
I’ve seen the look in her eyes when she realized I wasn’t safe to love.
I’ve walked out of rooms I should’ve stayed in and stayed in fights I should’ve walked from.
I’ve buried the best parts of me under layers of defense.
I’ve told myself I’m fine while bleeding through my shirt.
I’ve made peace with the fact that peace never made time for me.
I’ve stared down mirrors and dared them to blink first.
I don’t romanticize the damage—I just carry it.
I don’t ask for forgiveness—I just keep moving.
I don’t know what healing looks like, but I know what survival costs.
I don’t cry anymore, but I still flinch when someone says “safe.”
I’m the kind of man who’d die from a blow he didn’t see coming.
Not because he’s weak, but because he’s always looking the other way.
I’ve got stories stitched into my knuckles and regrets tattooed on my ribs.
I’ve got a heart that punches back and a mind that won’t stay quiet.
I’ve got a past that won’t let go and a future I don’t trust.
I’ve got one truth left: I fight.
Not for glory. Not for fame.
Just because that’s what got me down the line.
That’s just me.
No anthem. No apology.
Just a man who learned to swing
and never stopped.
That’s just me.(That’s just me.)That’s just me.
That’s just me.(That’s just me.)That’s just me.
That’s just me.(That’s just me.)That’s just me.
That’s just me.(That’s just me.)That’s just me

All rights reserved by songwriter and producer Edwin H. Balder.
For more ride-and-rock tracks, click here: https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/rusty-marshall-band?si=c5040230a7334213b5d7609527997d7c&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

That’s Just Me Rusty Marshall Band

My Metalcore/rock album THE DARK SIDE Of THOMAS GT is out NOW🤘😊🔥

A heartfelt thank you to all of you lovely people who listen, share my music and promote it. Without YOU, this “adventure” would never be possible. YOU are the best listeners imaginable. 🫶🔥🎶❤️


Listen to me on Spotify: 

https://open.spotify.com/artist/3kRT3RYNwYvpnK3INSSWNb?si=isCsqLkTTMqr9xG_-Ailzw

Follow me on insta:

https://www.instagram.com/thomas.g.thomsen?igsh=NGplYnhmbWhuczB5&utm_source=qr


My Musical Journey – Thomas GT

I was born in the 1960s and grew up with music flowing through my veins. From an early age, rock was more than just sound—it was a way of life. At 12 years old, I picked up my first guitar, inspired by the roaring energy of the rock scene—bands like KISS, Judas Priest, Saxon, and Iron Maiden lit the fire in my soul.

Through the years that followed, I played in several bands, living for the thrill of the stage and the camaraderie of creating music together. Those were unforgettable days—loud, passionate, and full of life.

At 28, my life took a new turn when I became a father. My focus shifted entirely to raising my children and caring for my dear family, and music quietly moved to the background. The guitars gathered dust, but the melodies never truly left my heart.

Now, at 60, that spark has reignited. The passion is back—but the hands don’t quite move like they used to. Thankfully, modern text-based music technology (AI) has opened a whole new door. Through it, I can craft music with words, bringing my feelings, my lyric and my ideas to life in ways I never thought possible.

Today, my inspirations have evolved—artists like Peter Cetera, Dayseeker, and Wind Walkers now shape the sound and emotion of my work. For me, this is more than just making music again—it’s finding my voice after all these years, and finally sharing the emotions I once kept inside.

All of my songs are created as demos—sketches of ideas meant to capture and express the emotions I carry, and have carried, throughout my life. They are my way of painting feelings in sound, of telling stories that my words alone cannot hold.

My greatest wish is for real musicians to one day perform and interpret these songs, breathing their own life and artistry into my stories. To hear my lyric/music brought to life in that way would be the proudest moment of my life.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking the time to read my story.

In the shadows of Apache Junction, at the foot of the majestic Superstition Mountains, sits a weathered hacienda. This desert oasis is home to an enigmatic figure, a songwriter whose journey reads like a long, dusty road of honky-tonk bars and college cafeterias. He wasn't chasing fame or glitter; instead, he chose the soul-crushing beauty of music for music's sake.

Years spent hunched over sticky barroom tables and scribbling lyrics on napkins earned him a reputation—not in the spotlight but in the back rooms where deals are made. He wrote melodies that found their way into the hearts of stars who had lost their own muse. He sold his creations for cash, with no recognition, but the whisper of his songs carried the weight of his soul.

Finally, he bought this piece of desert paradise—a stable income from his timeless songs allowed him to live comfortably, if anonymously. Here in this hacienda, with his family beside him and the mountains as his backdrop, he found the peace to write hits under his own name. He chuckled at the irony that now, without chasing fame, he could create music that brought him joy.

In the end, it was never about the spotlight. It was about the journey, the stories, and the songs that wrote themselves through his life. As the sun set behind the Superstitions, casting long shadows over the hacienda, he strummed his guitar and sang—content, unknown, and unburdened by the world's gaze.


Copyright 2019 Edwin H. Balder

I may be dead when fame comes but my real glory was always JULIE & The Kids. Thank you for such love

That’s Just Me Rusty Marshall Band

Edwin Balder