Talks A Lot

Wait For Nothing

I don’t think in good or bad,
I just do things and deal with it later.
Sometimes it’s a mess,
sometimes it’s nothing at all.
Not everything’s a lesson,
sometimes it’s just life happening.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.

I keep the wound open so I can feel it.
I take the risk when I know the cost.
I burn my bridges just to watch the fire,
and sometimes I smile at the smoke.
I don’t call it progress,
but it feels like being alive.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.

I’m not holy, I’m not shame.
I’m not one thing you can name.
If the dark is half of me,
I won’t lock it away.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.
And sometimes I like it that way.

like it that way

Indie Pop, Dreampop, Hypnagogic Pop, Chillwave, Neo-Psychedelica, Jangle Pop, Bedroom Pop, Indie Rock, Alternative

periphery of day.

I learned early not to ask for too much
someone always had it worse.
If I cried, they said, “You’re fine,”
so I learned to smile first.
Some of us had parents fighting,
some just had the silence thick as walls.
Either way, I learned to shrink
before I learned to call.

I build exits into every conversation,
I pull away before you know my name.
Call it coping, call it preservation,
but it’s fear wearing someone else’s face.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation
and then I hate the quiet that remains.

Some of us grew up fixing things
we didn’t break ourselves.
Some of us got used to praise
that only came when we excelled.
I say I’m busy when I’m lonely,
I ghost before I’m ghosted back.
I joke too soon, I care too late,
I call it freedom, but it’s lack.

I build exits into every conversation,
I pull away before you know my name.
Call it coping, call it preservation,
but it’s fear wearing someone else’s face.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation and then I hate the quiet that remains.

I’m not heartless, I’m rehearsed.
Every kindness comes with proof.
I wait for people to leave
just to say, “See? I knew.”
I call it strong, I call it smart,
but really, it’s just scared dressed sharp.

I build exits into every conversation,
turn open doors into escape plans.
Call it coping, call it survival,
but I’m still that kid, just grown-up hands.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation
and I wish I knew how not to.

exits

Indie Pop, Dreampop, Hypnagogic Pop, Neo-Psychedelica, Indie Rock, Chillwave, Bedroom Pop, Slowcore, Alternative

we’re not alone

Heaven Sent

Do you think it will go away
Time and the cold have a funny way of doing things
And if you look away it will come right up behind you
As you turn your head
It runs in front
Now
Baby
What's it gonna be?
There's no room for uncertainty
Time and the cold will make sure you don't get left behind

Now tell me what you need

Because time will fade away
And leave you in the cold
Time will fade away
And leave you in the cold
Time will fade away
And leave you in the cold
Time will fade away
And leave you in the cold


How Times Fade Away

Telephone moi

Shako Mako

"Where Do You Wander?" is a harrowing lyrical testament to the enduring trauma of Ireland's Magdalene Laundry survivors. Through a series of haunting, repetitive questions, the poem maps the psychological hellscape of a survivor—referred to with heartbreaking irony as "Grace." It probes the visceral, waking nightmares of institutional abuse: the sting of the strap, the blistering heat of industrial washing machines, the terror of nighttime footsteps, and the cruel removal of personal dignity, symbolized by the taking of "your laces." The lyrics force the reader to confront the physical and emotional brutality inflicted upon young women and girls, whose children were stolen from them and whose very identities were systematically stripped away.

The piece escalates from intimate terror to a searing indictment of the system that enabled this abuse. The chorus condemns the "manufactured disgrace"—the calculated, religiously-sanctioned shaming used to control and break the vulnerable. It shifts the focus from individual torment to collective guilt, asking why the entire country was "on the same page" in its silent complicity. The poem ultimately points a direct finger at the powerful, intertwining entities of the Church and the State ("The daughters of Rome... Shame on the state!"), holding them accountable for bending lives irrevocably "out of shape" and for the enduring silence that compounds the survivors' grief.

The poem's structure itself performs its catharsis. The relentless questioning builds a crushing emotional weight, which is finally released in the devastating, whispered-to-screamed coda: "(Galway's disgrace)." This repeated line transforms from a personal memory into a public accusation, growing in volume and intensity until it becomes an unstoppable, collective scream for justice. It is no longer just a question of where one wounded soul wanders in memory, but where a nation's conscience must wander in the face of a historical atrocity it has yet to fully acknowledge or atone for.

exits

LOVUL

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