I’ve worn regret like an anchor at sea
Drowning in memories that won’t set me free
Chased every shadow of who I used to be
But silence whispers: forgive what’s in me

Let it go… forgive… let it go… forgive…

Mirror cracks reflecting every wrong
Nightmares screaming in an endless song
Hands still trembling from what I’ve done
But dawn reminds me healing’s never gone

Breathe again… forgive… breathe again… forgive…

Forgive the voice that told you lies
Forgive the fear behind your eyes
Forgive the man who lost his way
Forgive yourself—live another day

Release… forgive… release… forgive…

Can’t erase the echoes of my past
But every heartbeat says I’m not the last
To learn forgiveness starts inside
To breathe again, to lift my eyes

Forgiven… forgiven… forgiven…

Wash the sins, release the blame
Shatter chains of guilt and shame

Forgiven—every scar I own
Forgiven—I am not alone
Forgiven—this I say to me
Forgiven—I can finally be free


Forgiven

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.