Cover Me In Sunshine

THE BEST MUSIC COLLECTION EVER

Million Reasons

SNAP

“Two Worlds” is a soul-baring collection of nine intimate songs that trace the arc of a man’s emotional odyssey through love, loss, and healing. Told in rich acoustic textures and poetic storytelling, the album begins with the bright bloom of love and follows its tragic unraveling, descending into solitude, self-doubt, and inner collapse. Yet within the darkness, glimmers of light persist.

Outside the Fairy Tale

When You Walk Away

They said we were born free…
but they wrote the script before we could speak.
And they call that choice?
They call that life?
They call that truth?

I call it strings.

Strings on our thoughts.
Strings on our fears.
Strings on the parts of us
we thought were ours.

Yeah, I’ve been watching the world
dance to a rhythm it never chose,
people marching in circles
like the path is all they know.

Politics preaching salvation
like they weren’t the ones
who lit the fire.
Religion drawing borders
on souls made of stars,
calling it “higher.”

Culture selling cages
painted in colors that blind,
telling us we’re “free thinkers”
while rewriting what we find.

And we swallow it
hooks, lies, halos, flags,
like we’re so scared of the truth
we’d rather break under the drag.

Everyone searching for meaning
in the ruins of a system
built to keep us down,
praying to the sky
for a heaven designed
by the same hands
that profit when we drown.

Funny how they call it “faith”
when fear holds the rope.
Funny how they call it “freedom”
when the cage gives you hope.

We’re just puppets
strings tied tight to the stories they feed us.
Puppets
told what to love, who to trust, what completes us.
Puppets
marching to a beat that bleeds us.
And the saddest part?
We don’t even see it happen.
We call it life…

But we’re puppets.

I’ve seen people build beliefs
like walls around their pain,
then worship the ones
who gave them the chains.

Heard prophets and presidents
sell miracles made of fear,
promising heaven or safety
if we fall in line right here.

They say the afterlife is waiting
like a prize for being tame—
but funny how the rules of heaven
look exactly like their game.

Culture tells you who to be
before you even breathe,
teaches you which mask to wear
and calls it “identity.”

Truth is
we were born wild,
born burning,
born questioning the throne,
but somewhere between
the cradle and the coffin,
they turned our fire into stone.

And we nodded.
And we bowed.
And we clapped.
Like the show wasn’t about
keeping us small
while they grew loud.

They don’t need fences
when they own your beliefs.
They don’t need chains
when you kneel willingly.

We’re just puppets
living in illusions crafted for control.
Puppets
holding onto lies like they make us whole.
Puppets
souls on strings sold as “goals.”
And the cruelest part?
They teach us to love our prison.
We call it faith.
We call it culture.
But it’s puppets.

I’m not saying burn the world
I’m saying wake the hell up.
Every story that they hand us
comes with poison in the cup.
Every truth they “teach” us
has a price we never chose.
Every heaven they promise
is a tool to keep us closed.

Fear is currency.
Control is art.
And we’re the product
torn apart.
This isn’t chaos
it’s a blueprint.
A masterpiece of limitation
sold as purpose and salvation.

And we buy it.
Every. Single. Time.

Look
If devotion needs obedience
it’s not devotion, it’s demand.
If freedom needs permission
it’s not freedom, it’s a brand.
If truth can’t survive a question
then the truth is just a scam.

They don’t want you thinking
they want you scared.
They don’t want you rising
they want you prepared
to follow the line,
follow the leader,
follow the faith,
follow the feeder.

We’re raised to kneel,
taught to trust
the crowns that rust,
the words that dust,
but tell me
why do the ones who preach of peace
always pull the strings on us?

We’re just puppets
minds locked tight in someone else’s vision.
Puppets
taught to chase a future built on fiction.
Puppets
dancing in a cage and calling it ambition.

But here’s the truth
I’d rather tear these strings
and bleed on the way out
than die believing
their illusion is my mission.

Yeah…
We’re puppets.
Fucking puppets.
But we don’t have to stay that way.

Puppet

J. Ash Dusk

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