Made me want to grab a blanket and reflect

The rhythm and message are in perfect harmony

You nailed the tone — protective and playful

One of the most original folk songs I’ve heard in a while

Hey there starshine, 
little spark,
You light the room when it gets dark.
You’ve got a laugh that bends the sky
Use it often, don’t ask why.
But listen close, cause here’s the thing
Some folks talk with golden rings.
Not all who smile have hearts that stay,
So learn to dance… 
then walk away.

Look for the light it’s always near,
But don’t let flattery bend your ear.
Trust your gut, not just his sleeve,
And if it feels wrong… girl- just leave.
You’ve got a fire, 
you’ve got your keys
So sing your truth, 
and keep your peace.
Look for the light
And do what’s right!

Some men will say you’re everything
Then ghost you like it’s Halloween.
Some will ask you to be small,
So they can feel a bit more tall.
Don’t be cruel, but don’t be blind
A good man’s rare, but worth the time.
The one who stays and helps you grow?
He won’t mind your “no,” and he’ll go slow.

Look for the light
it’s in the eyes,
In quiet hands and patient tries.
He won’t rush you, won’t control,
He’ll see your mind and love it whole.
You’ve got a voice, you’ve got your speed
Don’t chase what you don’t really need.
Look for the light
Then do what’s right!

And call me if your heart feels bruised,
We’ll eat ice cream and skip the news.
You’re made of stars and silly songs,
Don’t let someone else define what’s wrong.

Look for the light, it’s deep in you,
And those who see it, they’ll shine too.
If he shows up, but makes you doubt?
Send him packing, I’ll -help!- him out. 
You’ve got the power, you’ve got the breeze
So love the world, but check IDs.
Look for the light
But keep your keys!

Keep your keys!

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.”

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