Woke up wearing someone else’s frame.
My name was in it…
but it didn’t fit.
The mirror didn’t crack.
Still…
it hit.

Every breath drags
like a rusted chain.
Joints grind slow—
bone to brain.
Can’t show it.
Can’t name it.
Can’t trace where it starts…
but it ends
in everything.

Everything hurts—
but nothing’s broken.
No bruise to explain
the words left unspoken.
I move through the fire
like it ain’t mine…
Still wear the pain
like a second spine.

Used to heal fast.
Now I stall in place.
Used to hold weight—
now it holds my face.
The nights scream quiet,
the mornings accuse.
Even God looks tired
when I light the fuse.

Everything hurts—
but nothing’s broken.
No limp, no cast,
just heat unspoken.
Still lift the mask,
still fake the climb…
Still say I’m fine—
but I know I’m lyin’.

Ever scream and nothing moves?
Ever feel your hands…
but lose the use?
That’s the quiet hell
that wears my name.
Can’t scream it loud—
can’t shake the shame.

Everything hurts—
but nothing’s broken.
Pain with no shape,
hope left half-spoken.
I drag this weight,
still keep the form…
The body stays
but the soul feels worn.

Still walking.
Still aching.
Still ain’t done yet.
Still here.


Everything Hurts, Nothing's Broken

Verse I
i was given a book of glass
each page a prayer i couldn’t hold
i bled on every verse
and read myself in ruin

Verse II
the truth was never solid
just the light through fractures
i spoke in pieces
and shattered every name

Chorus
cut my hands on scripture
read what wasn’t there
reflected in the breaking
faith too sharp to bear

Verse III
i prayed with broken sounds
and wept into empty margins
the mirror cracked, and i saw
only the eye looking back

Chorus
cut my hands on scripture
read what wasn’t there
reflected in the breaking
faith too sharp to bear

Glass Scripture

Verse I
lay the stone on my back
say the name I can’t pronounce
pull my voice from the dust
I carry the weight to vanish

Verse II
obedience tastes like salt
the law has no face here
this burden is my name
I kneel so I don’t break

Verse III
I forgot who I was kneeling to
the sand forgives, the sky does not
to obey is to dissolve

Obeisance

Verse I
i unlearned your name
burned the book inside my chest
tore the silence from its god
and fed it to the noise

Verse II
you spoke in absolutes
i answered with a scream
what kneels must be broken
what binds must be destroyed

Chorus
i am the roar against god
the rupture of meaning
the holy no
the shatter of silence

Verse III
i spit out your scriptures
laughed at your light
and found joy in the scream
i became the end

Chorus
i am the roar against god
the rupture of meaning
the holy no
the shatter of silence

The Roar Against God

Verse I
a thought, suspended in breath
a wave, before it breaks
i was the void pretending form
now I am the silence that wakes

Verse II
i walked through fire that named me
and shed the names like skin
i drank the ash of broken truths
and built my self within

Chorus I
i am not what i destroyed
but what remained, unburned
i carry scars like scriptures
read aloud by light returned

i am not what i destroyed…
read aloud by light returned…

Verse III
truth returned, not to crown me
but to laugh beside my fall
the sacred doesn’t answer
it echoes when you call

Chorus II
i am not what i believed
but what i let believe in me
i gave up shape to hold the space
where I could finally be free

i gave up shape to hold the space…

Outro Chorus
i am not return, but re-creation
i am not end, but re-beginning
my breath, my laugh, my form—undone
this spiral is my singing

METANOIA…
METANOIA…
METANOIA…
METANOIA…
METANOIA…

Metanoia

Verse I
they carve my burden in salt
each grain remembers the yoke
i do not flinch beneath the altar
i offer silence for shape

Verse II
invisible hands set the stone
my mouth is the mold of duty
i am what was asked
not what was needed

Verse III
they will never see the weight
but they will follow its shape
i walk the spiral to wear it away

Refrain
no one sees the salt in the wound
no one blesses the beast who carries
but still — I kneel

Salt of the Yoke

Verse I
i bowed before the dust
wore my name into the soil
every weight a sacred silence
nothing mine, but the breath

Verse II
crown me not with gold
but with the dust of carried things
i am the shape the burden made
i remain to vanish well

Verse III
the dust remembers every weight
and names the nameless
i was carved in quiet
and crowned in ash

Refrain
to be nothing
to carry all
to vanish without resistance

Crown of Dust

Verse I
we blink into this light
drawn from somewhere deeper than breath
not yet a name, not yet a voice
but everything begins again

Refrain I
lean toward the warmth
lean toward the rhythm
lean toward the breath
light leans forward too

Verse II
we were not made in stone
we arrive as soft impressions
written in breath, rewritten in light
the future waits in wonder

Refrain II
lean into the warmth
lean into the rhythm
lean into the breath
light leans forward still

Bridge
do not name this becoming
do not break the silence with certainty
let it rise… let it rise…

Verse III
every eye opens twice
once to the world
once to itself
we are not either — we are both

Final Refrain
lean toward the warmth
lean toward the rhythm
lean toward the breath
light leans forward

Light Leans Forward

Verse I
a child laughs, not at, but with
a sound without agenda
mockery mistaken for madness
but this is wisdom, raw and new

Refrain I
dance your name until it vanishes
spin the truth until it’s round
laughter echoes through becoming
what is sacred can’t be bound

Verse II
the old lines split, but don’t explode
instead, they slide… and shimmer
dogma melts in play’s warm hands
the self reforms like river’s flow

Chorus I
you are not a thing, but a rhythm
a pattern always shifting form
not what you hold, but how you move
this is the dance — this is the norm

you are not a thing, but a rhythm…
this is the dance — this is the norm…

Verse III
truth is not a stone to wield
but a breath that changes shape
your doubt is honest; wear it proud
your laughter is your blade

Chorus II
you are not a thing, but a rhythm
a pattern always shifting form
not what you hold, but how you move
this is the dance — this is the norm

don’t grasp the shape, become the shift…
this is the play — this is the gift…

Verse IV
laugh at the idols that wore your face
let them crack and spill their names
every mask a stepping stone
every joke a sacred flame

Final Chorus
you are not a thing, but a rhythm
a sacred echo in a void
laughter is your armor now
dance into the great destroy

Outro
becoming… becoming…

The Play of Becoming

Verse I
i bit the hand that taught me
swallowed the words in full
every prayer was protein
i chewed my creed into pulp

Verse II
my god died quiet
in the throat of a song i forgot
truth turned sour, then sweet
as i tore out the tongue that preached

Chorus
consume the name
devour the frame
unlearn the flame
to be the mouth of becoming

Verse III
my self is selfless now
no center left to hold
belief ate belief
now i am hollow and whole

Chorus
consume the name
devour the frame
unlearn the flame
to be the mouth of becoming

Maneater of Meaning

Before you press play, I need to tell you something.

This isn’t just music. It’s a quiet unraveling. It’s what it sounds like when a soul tries to keep breathing after losing the one it thought was home.

You’re about to hear love slip through someone’s fingers. Not in anger. In silence. In slow realizations. In the long ache that follows when you know they were it for you,  and then it was all gone.

These songs don’t ask for your attention. They wait. Gently. Until you’re ready to remember the things you promised yourself you wouldn’t feel again. They know the quiet corners where your heartbreak lives. They sit with you there.

If you’ve ever found the one, your person, and then watched them walk away with your whole future still attached to their name… this album will cut deep. It will remind you of what it means to love without guardrails. And to lose without closure.

There may be moments where the quiet gets so heavy you forget to breathe. But that’s how you know it’s real.

So take a breath. Let it come for you.

And when it’s done, if you feel hollow or wrecked or cracked wide open, that’s how you’ll know it worked.
You remembered.
You felt it all.
And that means your heart still works.
That means you’re still human.

Have you ever lost the person your soul wasn’t ready to let go of?

all of you

I work with machines the way some people work with memory—shaping what’s already there, not to control it, but to understand it. The tools I use are made of code, but the intent behind them is completely human.

R.U.D.Y. began as a fictional band. A name I could hide behind. But over time, that fiction became the most honest expression I had. It stopped being a mask and started becoming a mirror—a place to reflect the moments we don’t have words for, the spaces between emotions that feel too raw or too distant to name.

I call what I do synthwrighting. Not because it sounds futuristic, but because it feels accurate. I don’t write songs—I uncover them. I collaborate with algorithms the way a sculptor chips away at stone. Sometimes the machine surprises me. Sometimes it just listens. But what emerges is always shaped by instinct, memory, and feeling.

These songs aren’t performances. They’re echoes. Sonic fragments of questions I don’t always know how to ask. I’m not here to offer answers or compete with noise—I’m here to slow things down enough that something deeper can be heard.

R.U.D.Y. is not a band. It’s not even really a name. It’s a signal. A reminder. Something you’re meant to feel before you understand.

And if you’re still listening, that means you're not done yet.