Fear Of Flying

A song for those who know how to function, but don’t feel present.
For those who say “I’m fine” like a ritual, while something in them stays silent.
“It’s Not Me – It’s Just Me” is about splitness—about playing yourself so well even the mirror stops questioning.
The skin fits, but it’s too quiet inside Like someone left the room but locked the door It’s about being seen, but not really there.
About smiling at the right time—and wondering who, exactly, is smiling.
—
“My Head Can’t Hold It” is not an album.
It’s a slow unraveling of what awareness sounds like when it slips through the seams of everyday life. 
For those who function—and sometimes quietly ask:
is this really me?

It’s Not Me – It’s Just Me

Time Moved On

www.youtube.com/@VanGotravels
Song is NOT about Blame, it is about Empathy!
(Our Travels to New Mexico, I honored the land and the people with Much Respect)I did a lot of research before realeasing this track, I hope it is accepted, embraced with Honor and pride! WE SEE YOU! Under tourist feet” = the casual ignorance or disrespect of those walking on sacred ground with no understanding of what lies beneath. ask me about deeper meanings of verses if confused! “Metal lies” = the false promises of technology, progress, and civilization brought by colonizers or modern industry — at the cost of land, culture, and truth.Thank you For Listening!

[Spoken]
Before the first drumbeat, before the chant echoes across this digital space...
    Let it be known: this song is born from the land — not taken, but felt.

    We came to New Mexico as travelers — van wheels rolling across red clay roads, chasing beauty in open skies.

    But what we found was more than a landscape.
    We found sacred ground — land with memory, breath, and blood.

    This song is not ours.
    It is a tribute to the spirit of the Navajo Nation, and to all Indigenous people whose stories were silenced, whose land was taken, but whose resilience never broke.

    We do not speak their language.
    We do not claim their rituals.
    But we honor their presence and their power.

    And so we offer this piece —
    not as owners, but as guests.

    May the wind carry it with care. May the desert remember that we tried to listen.


   Heya ho…Heya heya ho… heya ho…
    Smoke on the ridge and blood in the sand
    Heya ho… Heya heya ho…heya ho...
    The white man came with iron hands…

We were here before the sky cracked
Before roads split the bones of the earth
Before the lights of Roswell tried to chase stars
We danced in silence
We sang to the sun
We were never lost — we were stolen

   Heya  ho…Heya  ho…
    They came with maps and metal lies
    Heya heya ho…Heya  ho…
    They named our mountains, claimed our skies
    Heya heya ho…Heya  ho…
    But the wind still speaks in the mother tongue
    Heya Heya ho… we are not done…

White Sands — sacred, not yours to sell
Not some backdrop for your wishing well
We see what you bury under tourist feet
The bones of treaties and the lies you keep
You chase the stars, call them aliens
We call them watchers — and they call us friends

You think the desert is empty?
Then you’ve never listened to the land
Every stone is a voice
Every grain of sand is memory
And the wind? That’s our mother, still breathing

    Heya heya yaa… heya ho…
    Canyon cries where the white men go
    Heya  yaa… heya ho…
    The curse you planted still grows
    Heya heya yaa… heya ho…
    But the spirit walks and the river knows
    Heya heya ho… we remain, we rose…

The desert’s not dead — she sleeps in red
She watches, she waits for what's unsaid
You built your towers, dug your graves
But we still dance and we are not slaves
Painted faces in a world turned black
But we’re the fire, and the fire fights back

    Heya ho…Heya heya ho… rise from the stone…
    Heya ho…Heya heya … we are not alone…
    Heya ho…Heya heya ho… burn through the lie…
    Heya ho…Heya heya ho… we survive… we survive…

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Fear Of Flying

Moira Chicilo

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