Music Library

"I thought I was above, but I’m just beyond. Searching for a tribe where I can respond." Above or Beyond? was born out of a conversation with my partner about Toastmasters—a group meant to build confidence, foster connection, and encourage expression. But for me, it triggered something unexpected: a deep discomfort. Not with the people, not even with the format—but with myself in that setting. Why did I feel so out of place when others felt inspired? Why did I silently judge speeches as shallow while offering nothing myself? Was I just arrogant? Or was I starved for something deeper? This song is an honest reflection of that tension—between belonging and standing apart, between craving depth and hiding behind theory. It’s about realizing that sometimes we label others as "sheep" not because they are, but because we’re afraid we’ve lost the map to our own voice. The title “Above or Beyond?” asks a painful question I had to sit with: Am I simply looking down on others from a place of ego? Or am I reaching for something that hasn't yet found its shape in the room? There’s no clear answer. Just the song.

"Who made the rules I’m breaking now? I’m done, I’m walking out." Not My Ideal is a defiant anthem against the impossible standards we set for ourselves — the “perfect” version of who we think we should be. It’s a raw, liberating reminder that realness beats perfection every time, and that our flaws and desires are proof of life, not failure. This song is my personal rebellion against shame and the cage of idealism — a loud, unapologetic declaration: I’m not my ideal, and I don’t need to be.

"Drop the fight, drop the weight, It’s here, this moment, wide awake." Do It Now is a gentle wake-up call to stop waiting for the “perfect moment” to live or be present. It was written as a meditation on the truth that later is just an illusion — life only ever happens now. The song invites you to drop excuses, step out of the storm of thinking, and find clarity in the simplicity of this breath, this step, this moment.

"We weren’t made to feel okay. We were made to break, and care, and repair." Most songs about pain try to fix it or run from it. This one doesn’t. “Let It Be There” is a song about sitting with suffering — yours, mine, and the world’s — without flinching, without pretending it’s not there. In this duet version, two voices weave together: One voice admits the fear, the discomfort, the urge to avoid. The other voice answers with compassion, acceptance, and quiet strength. Together, they remind us that we don’t have to fight every feeling — sometimes the most courageous thing is to let it exist and breathe. If you’ve ever felt broken, heavy, or powerless but still wanted to live with an open heart — this is for you. Turn it up, take a breath, and let it be there.

“I’m not here to conquer fear. But to meet it when it’s near.” This song is a dialogue—between the voice that seeks truth, and the voice that quietly fears it’s not enough. I wrote this while reflecting on what really drives us: – The need to be right – To be liked – To be useful – To feel complete. It’s inspired by a passage from Peter Ralston on the self-agenda—how our deepest drives are often rooted in a subtle background dissatisfaction. But what happens when that dissolves? "Useless / Whole" is about shedding the masks we build around our fear of not mattering… and finding something far more peaceful underneath.

"The truth I seek is not 'out there,' It’s in the stillness I can bear." Clouds That Know the Ground is a meditative, beat-driven reflection on life after the noise of survival has quieted — when the drive to prove oneself fades, but the urge to express remains. I made this during a moment of strange clarity. You know that feeling when you realize you don’t need to prove anything anymore… but you still want to express? That’s where this came from. It’s not a cry for help. It’s a whisper of freedom.

"Almost fine with being flawed. Almost done with playing God." Sometimes we’re not in pain. But we’re not at peace either. We’re just… in between. Avoiding things we don’t like. Pushing ourselves a bit too far. Watching our thoughts but still clinging to control. Not suffering — but not free. This song is about that space. The quiet tension of self-awareness. The soft rebellion of staying open. It’s not an anthem. It’s not a breakdown.

"It’s not about forgetting. It’s about not being ruled." What if your thoughts weren’t the truth? What if fear was just a leftover echo? This song came from a moment on a bike, passing through Glenorchy, half-expecting something bad to happen—because it had before. That’s how the mind works: it protects, it predicts. But it also traps. Drop the Frame is about seeing that trap and stepping out of it. 🌀 It’s not about forgetting the past. It’s about not being ruled by it. If you've ever caught yourself reacting before reality even had a chance to show up... this one’s for you.

“They don’t hate ‘cause they’re evil — they hate ‘cause they hurt.” This song is about the kind of pain that gets ignored. The loneliness that gets mistaken for hate. And the stories that pull people into darkness when no one’s there to offer light. I was inspired by real interviews with former extremists, mass shooting survivors, and families torn apart by ideology. It reminded me that you don’t save someone by yelling at them — You save them by sitting by the cave, and listening.

"I thought I knew what truth was. Turns out it was just belief." I Thought I Knew is about the quiet shock of realizing that even our most cherished beliefs are just stories — comforting frameworks, not absolute truths. Inspired by Peter Ralston’s Pursuing Consciousness, the song follows my own journey of deconstructing the belief that “people are equal and should have the same opportunities.” At first, it felt righteous and unshakable. But when I questioned it deeply, I saw how much of it was inherited — a lens I never chose. Letting it go didn’t leave me empty; it left me freer, with a rawer sense of reality. This track is an indie-electronica meditation on belief, identity, and the subtle freedom that comes when you drop the “shoulds.”

"It ain't the truth that sets us free. It's the lie we want reality to be." “Life is more or less a lie... but then again, that’s exactly the way we want it to be.” – Bob Dylan This song was born from that one line. What if we don’t want the truth? What if we prefer the illusion — polished, comforting, just believable enough to carry us through?

"Now I can’t tell what’s me, what’s myth. It’s just the lens I built to live with." Are you who you are… or who you had to become to feel safe? This song is about the quiet illusions we build around ourselves. The identities we mistake for truth. The stories we repeat so often, they become reality. I always thought I was “introverted.” But what if that label was just the safest option? What if my identity was a loop — self-reinforcing, self-made?