Stories in Sound

This song is the story of someone waking up to the possibility that much of their “self” is a construct — a lens built out of habit, fear, and old coping strategies. It starts with a quiet confession: calling oneself “introverted” might not be a truth, but a shield. The lyrics unravel how repeating that story turned it into reality, even when it was just a survival mechanism. As the verses unfold, the narrator begins questioning — What if my patterns aren’t my identity? What if I’m not who I’ve always said I am? By the bridge and final chorus, there’s a subtle liberation. The song suggests that beyond the lens — beyond the self-made roles and labels — there’s a truer self waiting to be discovered. The Lens I Built is both haunting and hopeful, inviting listeners to ask: What parts of me are real… and what parts are just the stories I’ve outgrown?

This song unravels the comforting fictions we build to survive, asking if we truly want the truth or just a beautiful lie to hold onto. Inspired by Bob Dylan’s reflection that “life is more or less a lie,” it explores how we mask reality with stories, roles, and myths — not out of malice, but because illusion feels safer than raw existence. Ask ChatGPT

This song tells the story of wrestling with the endless hunger of the ego — the constant need to build, prove, and be seen. It starts with the restless nights and obsessive thoughts that many creators, workers, and dreamers know too well, and it slowly unravels the illusion that our worth is tied to what we produce. By the chorus, there’s a turning point — a quiet voice that says, “I am not that.” Not the code, not the name, not the restlessness. The song becomes a declaration of freedom from the mental machinery that drives us to exhaustion. I Am Not That is both personal and universal — a raw, reflective anthem for anyone learning to step back, watch the story, and rest in the space beyond the need to constantly do or be something.

This song tells the story of someone who’s spent their life resisting pain — running from it, trying to fix or suppress it — only to realize that real healing comes from facing it head-on. The lyrics walk through that transformation: the walls we build, the endless “why me,” and the eventual surrender where suffering isn’t seen as an enemy but as a teacher. In the fire, they discover presence, peace, and even strength — not by fighting the flames but by standing still and letting them burn. Let It Burn is both a quiet anthem and a meditation — a reminder that when we stop running from the hard moments, we often find the clarity and freedom we’ve been chasing all along.