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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Where My Face Once Fed the Light”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
They erased my face so something else could rise. Not a name, not a memory — just a red-wound eye of petals where my head once weighed the sky. A stalk split upward through collarbone silence, leaves curled like knuckles that never unclenched. I never asked to carry colour. It carried me — pushed through soft bone with pigment that bled into the body's quiet surrender. Now, I am stem and sentinel — my gaze sewn from velvet and void. This is not beauty. This is becoming, when identity ferments into something spined, unspeaking — but watchful. Even the dirt remembers what I was before I turned to light-fed silence.
Instructional lyrics
[Intro: Low bass drone with soft guitar plucks, faint wind sound.] They erased my face so something else could rise. [Verse 1: Guitar plays minor arpeggio, drum hits soft and slow.] Not a name, not a memory — just a red-wound eye of petals where my head once weighed the sky. A stalk split upward through collarbone silence, leaves curled like knuckles that never unclenched. [Chorus: Bass swells, layered vocal harmonies low and eerie.] I never asked to carry colour. It carried me — pushed through soft bone with pigment that bled into the body’s quiet surrender. [Verse 2: Bass drone fades, guitar remains sparse.] Now, I am stem and sentinel — my gaze sewn from velvet and void. [Bridge: Frame drum rolls faintly, minor key modulation.] This is not beauty. This is becoming, when identity ferments into something spined, unspeaking — but watchful. [Outro: Guitar fades to single harmonic note, bass drone lingers.] Even the dirt remembers what I was before I turned to light-fed silence.
Song info
Dark cinematic folk; deep bowed bass, fingerpicked nylon guitar, sparse frame drum, haunting vocal delivery.
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