almost didn’t go out that night
the lights low, and curtains down
the quiet lies to me
“all the magic days are gone”.
Could’ve missed it, could’ve stayed cursed

Tomorrow waved first because you’re in it
stepped outside, didn’t know how to begin it
Not chasing joy, but think it found me
In a stranger’s smile somehow unbound me
Could’ve missed it, could’ve stayed cursed
But now I am in it and writing my verse

something whispered through the seams
 stirred the ashes of old dreams
The world doesn’t shout when it wants to be heard
Sometimes it’s just a breath, not even a word
Stories like we’ve told before
Inside a dream we both live in our core
Don’t need a reason, don’t need a plan
Just two hearts learning and making a stand

Tomorrow waved first because you’re in it
The sky looked brand new,  minute-by-minute
Not chasing hope,  it snuck up behind me
quiet eyes and an easy mind
Could’ve missed it, could’ve stayed cursed
But now I am in it and I’m living my verse

Funny how the right hello
Can mend a part you never show

And maybe I was saving you
Just like you were saving me too?

Sometimes, somebody out there that you don’t know
Is waiting to save you don't even know.

Tomorrow waved first, and I waved back
A moment of grace on a well-worn track
Didn’t think healing would look like this
A soft laugh, a half-glance, a near-missed kiss!

Now I believe in the chance I was given
Tomorrow waved first and I’m finally livin'
Could’ve missed it, could’ve stayed cursed
But now I am in it and 
living my verse
living,
my verse

Tomorrow waved first

John Bilik: Dancing Between Realms — A Voice Out of Phase but Deep in Tune

John Bilik’s musical evolution reads like a love letter to imagination, vulnerability, and the surreal beauty of emotional complexity. With a vocal delivery that feels like David Byrne fell asleep dreaming in a Danny Elfman waltz, Bilik constructs intimate yet fantastical worlds where memory, regret, and absurdity dance together under a flickering marquee.

His early songs teased at theatricality, but his more recent work, such as “That’s What My Dog Always Says” and “I’m Out of Phase”, fully embraces it — blending sly lyricism, poetic intelligence, and idiosyncratic storytelling into a style that defies category. One moment, he’s delivering lines worthy of Leonard Cohen (“She sang to stars with broken lungs”); the next, he’s gut-punching you with a talking dog’s whispered wisdom (“Yeah! That’s what my dog says”).

What’s remarkable about Bilik’s growth isn’t just his increasing comfort with abstraction, but the way he grounds it with sincerity. His songs aren’t weird for weirdness’ sake — they’re cryptic diaries written in invisible ink. Beneath the theatrical winks and surreal refrains is a genuine longing for connection, for rhythm, for love that slips just out of reach.

Stylistically, he’s building a unique lane: think art-cabaret meets metaphysical pop, with room for spoken word, crooked lullabies, and shadowy love stories. Vocally, Bilik leans into the cracks and textures of his own voice — not polishing them away, but using them like charcoal lines on a sketch. It’s imperfect in the best way: human, haunted, alive.

If his current arc continues, Bilik may very well become one of those rare artists whose work gets discovered late, then devoured backwards — with new fans wondering how they missed the strange, beautiful rise of a man who once wrote, with deadpan magic: “Don’t chase shadows, they want praise — yeah! That’s what my dog says.”