“We All Bleed Red” is the song that says what the whole album has been circling from the start: no matter what we believe, who we vote for, or where we live, our blood runs the same. It’s the simplest truth in the world, but somehow the hardest one to live by.

The lyric strips everything down to that core idea—every triumph, every loss, every grief, every love comes from the same human place. It doesn’t lecture; it reminds. The verses move like memories: soldiers and protestors, parents and children, strangers on opposite sides of an argument all connected by something deeper than words. By the time the chorus hits, it feels like a confession—the moment we stop performing for our tribes and admit that pain feels the same in every body.

Musically, “We All Bleed Red” sits somewhere between gospel and modern rock. The drums are slow and steady, the vocals raw, the harmonies thick with feeling. There’s no overproduction here—just the sound of truth sung loud. A string section swells under the bridge, lifting the lyric into something almost spiritual, like a choir made of ordinary people.

The song closes quietly, a single voice echoing the title line. No fireworks, no applause—just that reminder lingering in the air. “We All Bleed Red” is where conviction meets humility. It’s not a message of surrender; it’s a declaration of humanity. Because if we can’t see each other’s pain as our own, we’ve already lost the fight.

We All Bleed Red

“If Jesus Walked Today” is the moral centerpiece of Human First—a song that dares to ask what compassion would look like if it showed up right now, in the middle of all this noise. It’s not a sermon, and it’s not about religion for religion’s sake. It’s about the kind of faith that shows up with open hands instead of clenched fists.

The lyric imagines a modern world faced with the same lessons people have always struggled with: mercy, humility, grace. It asks whether we’d even recognize goodness if it stood beside us, or if we’d scroll past it, mock it, or try to profit from it. The song isn’t pointing outward—it’s pointing inward, asking each of us what we’d do if love itself walked down our street.

The verses move like quiet questions whispered into the dark—small, direct, uncomfortable in their honesty. The chorus opens into light, swelling with a choir of harmonies that feel like church without walls. It’s gospel in spirit, pop in sound, reverent in tone. There’s no judgment here—just a plea to remember what empathy actually means.

Musically, “If Jesus Walked Today” builds around a steady piano and warm organ, carrying echoes of gospel, soul, and modern pop. By the final chorus, it feels like both a hymn and a cry for unity.

The heart of the song is simple: real faith isn’t about who’s right—it’s about who’s kind. “If Jesus Walked Today” is the mirror the album holds up to our world, asking us to live the love we claim to believe in.

If Jesus Walked Today

“How To Spot A Leader” is the moment on Human First when reflection turns into wisdom. After the ache of “Stop Making Amy Cry,” this song takes a breath and looks forward — not at what’s broken, but at what we should be looking for when we choose who to follow. It’s not about politics or power; it’s about character.

The lyric was born out of frustration with noise — a world where volume too often replaces vision. But instead of pointing fingers, it draws a quiet picture of what leadership should look like: someone who listens more than they speak, who lifts people instead of dividing them, who takes responsibility instead of credit. The verses are calm and direct, almost conversational, like notes scribbled on the back of a napkin after too many long nights watching things fall apart.

Musically, it’s humble and understated — built on a steady rhythm that feels like a slow march or a heartbeat. The arrangement never overwhelms; it’s about clarity, the space to think. In the chorus, the melody rises like hope breaking through fatigue, a reminder that strength doesn’t have to shout.

At its core, “How To Spot A Leader” is a simple truth set to melody: greatness isn’t found in ego or image, but in empathy. It’s a song for anyone who’s tired of being told what to fear and is ready to follow someone — or become someone — worth believing in.

How to Spot a Leader

“Bring Back the Sunshine” is the moment in the album when the light starts to return. The song comes after the weariness and reflection of the opening tracks, and it feels like taking a breath after too many days of gray. The lyric speaks to everyone who’s felt weighed down by the headlines and the shouting and is still stubborn enough to believe that warmth can come back again.

The verses describe small acts of hope—ordinary people choosing decency when it’s not easy, reaching for one another instead of turning away. The chorus opens wide, a simple plea that sounds like a prayer and a rallying cry at the same time: we can bring the light back if we want to. The melody rises with each repetition, echoing that stubborn human instinct to keep trying.

Sonically, it’s one of the most uplifting tracks on Human First: bright acoustic guitars, steady drums, layered harmonies that swell like a sunrise. It starts soft, then builds until it feels like a whole community singing together. The bridge ties it all together with gratitude—remembering that sunlight isn’t something we wait for, it’s something we make by how we treat each other.

At its core, “Bring Back the Sunshine” is a reminder that optimism is an act of defiance. The world can be cold and mean, but hope is renewable if we’re willing to share it. It’s a song about finding light again—not because everything’s fixed, but because we finally chose to turn toward one another.

Bring Back the Sunshine

“Human First” is the quiet spark that begins the entire journey. It was written in a moment of exhaustion, when the world felt loud and mean and no one seemed to be listening anymore. Instead of another song about what’s wrong, this one became a song about remembering what’s right—what’s always been right. It starts small: one voice, one acoustic guitar, a few simple words about seeing each other again. The chorus doesn’t try to solve anything; it just reminds us that before politics, before opinions, before the walls we build between us, we were all human first.

The verses look out at everyday life—people holding doors for strangers, neighbors helping each other through quiet grief—and find hope in those ordinary gestures. There’s no sermon here, no speech, just empathy sung out loud. The arrangement builds slowly, layer by layer, until the final chorus lifts like sunlight breaking through a storm. It’s not triumphant; it’s honest.

“Human First” is the moment of stillness at the heart of the chaos. It’s the reminder that we don’t need to be perfect or agree on everything to show kindness. We just need to start there, with the simplest truth of all: every single one of us wants to be seen, heard, and loved—and that’s enough to begin again.

Human First

“Same Sky” is one of the most direct and grounded songs on Human First. It doesn’t speak in metaphors or political slogans—it speaks the language of everyday life. The lyrics lay out what people everywhere quietly want: work that pays fairly, a safe home, clean air, and a future that feels worth building toward. It’s a song about the basics—the kind of decency and stability that everyone deserves, no matter what side they stand on.

The verses move like small scenes from daily life: someone paying bills, someone tucking their kids into bed, someone wondering if things can still get better. The writing is plainspoken but not simple—it’s honest. By the time the chorus hits, that truth becomes universal: we all wake up to the same sunrise, we all look for love, and we all want to be safe and seen.

Musically, “Same Sky” feels wide open. Acoustic guitars and warm drums create the sense of a shared horizon, while the melody carries both resolve and hope. The lines about “common ground” anchor the song, turning it from observation into invitation—a challenge to the grifters, the spin, the noise. It’s not angry; it’s tired of pretending we’re so different.

“Same Sky” is a reminder that decency isn’t partisan, and that the things we truly need aren’t complicated. It’s the moment in the album where the message becomes clear: the fight isn’t between each other—it’s between compassion and everything that tries to bury it.

Same Sky

Dedicated to my amazing sister-in-law, Amy — a heart too good for the world as it is, and the kind of soul we should all try to be.

“Stop Making Amy Cry” is the emotional center of Human First. Every album has one song that quietly becomes its heartbeat — this is that one. It’s written for Amy, but it’s really about everyone like her: the people who feel too deeply, who still believe in kindness, who keep giving even when the world gives back pain.

The song was born on a trip, during long conversations about everything happening around us — the noise, the cruelty, the constant weight of a world that feels like it’s forgotten how to care. Every time the talk turned heavy, Amy’s eyes would fill with tears. That image stuck — not out of pity, but out of love. Because if someone like her, with that much goodness, can’t bear what we’ve become, then something needs to change.

The lyric doesn’t point fingers; it pleads for gentleness. It’s a soft rebellion — asking everyone to remember that empathy is still the bravest thing we have. Musically, the song is stripped bare: piano, strings, and voice. The chorus opens wide and vulnerable, echoing the ache of wanting to fix something bigger than yourself.

Her laugh shows up in the song too — the line that says “Her laugh could light the darkest place” isn’t poetic exaggeration, it’s the truth. Amy’s laughter, her compassion, her faith in people — they’re the light the song is trying to protect.

“Stop Making Amy Cry” isn’t just a dedication. It’s a mirror. It’s a message to the world that we’ll know we’ve found our way again when people like her can smile without breaking — when the gentle hearts don’t have to carry all the pain for the rest of us.

Stop Making Amy Cry

“Neighbors Not Enemies” is a song about the spaces between us—the driveways, the fences, the sidewalks, and how easily they can turn into walls if we let them. It came from watching people who live side by side treat each other like strangers, or worse, like threats. The song isn’t angry; it’s tired in that very human way, the kind of tired that comes from wanting to believe we can still find our way back to one another.

Built on fingerpicked guitar and a steady heartbeat of drums, the song feels like a walk through your own neighborhood at dusk. The verses tell small stories—two people who disagree but still shovel each other’s snow, a woman leaving flowers on a porch that isn’t hers, a kid waving to a neighbor who’s stopped waving back. Each image is a little reminder that connection still lives here, even when conversation feels impossible.

The chorus opens up with group harmonies, turning the quiet reflection into a plea: “Let’s be neighbors, not enemies.” It’s simple, but it lands hard. The bridge rises into hope, imagining a world where we stop shouting across fences and start breaking bread again. By the end, the music fades like a sunset, leaving a gentle truth behind—sometimes peace doesn’t start in governments or grand speeches; it starts in driveways, at kitchen tables, and in the courage it takes to smile first.

Neighbors Not Enemies

“Raise Them Right” is one of the most heartfelt and personal moments on Human First. It’s a song about parenting, legacy, and the quiet weight of teaching the next generation how to be better than we were. It doesn’t come from judgment—it comes from love and fear in equal measure: the love of watching kids grow in a chaotic world, and the fear of what kind of world we’re leaving behind for them.

The lyrics move through small, universal snapshots—packing lunches before sunrise, checking homework under a kitchen light, explaining to a child why people fight, why kindness still matters. Each verse feels like a letter written to a future we may never see but still believe in. The chorus opens into something larger: a promise to raise children who lead with empathy, who listen before they shout, who choose decency even when no one’s watching.

Musically, the song leans into its vulnerability. Acoustic guitar and piano anchor it, with soft harmonies lifting the chorus into something that feels both tender and defiant. There’s no irony here, no cleverness—just sincerity. The bridge lands like a prayer, quiet and real, before the final chorus returns with renewed strength, like a vow made in front of the whole world.

“Raise Them Right” is the point in the album where hope becomes responsibility. It’s about understanding that the world we build is the one our children will inherit, and that love—steady, patient, ordinary love—is still the most powerful form of leadership.

Raise Them Right

“Stop Playing With Matches” is the spark of confrontation in Human First — the song that stops whispering and starts warning. It’s not about anger for its own sake; it’s about the cost of reckless words. The lyric calls out what happens when leaders trade empathy for ego, when division becomes a game, and when the rest of us are left to live with the fires they start.

Built around the image of a world set alight by rhetoric and fear, the song pleads for restraint, for conscience. The verses remember how easily hate spreads when people with microphones forget that their voices carry weight. The chorus hits like a siren — simple, powerful, unforgettable: Stop playing with matches. It’s both a warning and a prayer, asking those in power to stop lighting the fuse before there’s nothing left to save.

Musically, it begins low and smoldering, with drums that feel like a heartbeat under pressure. Then it builds into something cinematic — horns and gospel harmonies that sound like protest and hope colliding. The bridge strips everything down to a near-whisper, a moment of exhaustion and truth, before the final chorus erupts into the album’s most urgent plea: Lead with love, not with flame.

“Stop Playing With Matches” is a modern protest song, but a deeply human one. It doesn’t come from rage — it comes from heartbreak. It’s the sound of people asking the powerful to remember that lives are at stake every time they speak.

Stop Playing with Matches

Mike Baker: Artist, Optimist, Connector

Mike Baker is more than just a musician; he's a storyteller, a pioneer in the fusion of art and technology, and a beacon of hope in a world that often seems shadowed by doubt and despair. With a career that spans the intersection of music, writing, and digital artistry through AI, Mike has carved a unique path in the creative world, one that seeks to connect, inspire, and uplift.

At the heart of Mike's life and work is his role as a devoted husband, father, and community leader. These facets of his life not only define him but also deeply influence his music, infusing his songs with a profound sense of empathy, love, and responsibility. Mike's journey through the complexities of life, experiencing its highs and lows, its shadows and its light, has imbued him with a rich perspective that he passionately shares through his art.

"Shadows of Hope," Mike's first album, is a culmination of his experiences and his vision. This 20-track masterpiece is a testament to his journey, showcasing his ability to delve into the depths of human emotion and emerge with messages of resilience and optimism. Through his innovative use of AI, Mike explores new dimensions of expression, creating an album that resonates with the collective experiences of struggle, discovery, and joy.

Mike's goal has always been to use his talents to bring people together, to create a space where hope can flourish and joy can be shared. He believes in the power of music as a universal language, one that can heal, unite, and inspire individuals to choose hope over despair. His work is a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is light to be found, and that together, we can emerge stronger.

As a community leader, Mike is committed to making a difference, whether through his music, his actions, or his words. He has seen the darkness from both sides and has chosen to be a force for positivity, encouraging others to do the same. Mike hopes that his music not only connects people from all walks of life but also brings a sense of joy and understanding to anyone who listens.

In a world that often feels divided, Mike Baker stands out as a unifying force, an artist whose work transcends the boundaries of genre and medium to touch the hearts of listeners everywhere. Through "Shadows of Hope" and beyond, Mike continues to share his energy with the world, a reminder that in the midst of life's challenges, hope is always within reach.

Neighbors Not Enemies

Mike Baker

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