DescriptionLooking for a singer with heart, grit, and a voice that makes words mean more. I’m a lyricist and poet with a creative writing background, drawn to emotional, story-driven songs—sometimes off-kilter, always rooted in feeling. I’ve released two AI-collab albums (weird but cool), but now I want to hear these songs sung by a real human. Not polished, not perfect—just honest. I’m looking for someone creatively hungry, with a great voice and no massive catalog yet. Someone who wants to make something meaningful, not transactional. If you’re a singer searching for words that say something real, I’ve got them.Let’s build something together. (P.S. If you’re curious how some of my songs have been interpreted, I’m happy to share the Spotify links.)

Use of AII write all my own lyrics but since I can't sing and I'm not a musician, I sometimes create AI generated versions of my songs so I can get a sense of how they sound.

Lyrics

Genres: Country, Indie, Folk, Singer-Songwriter

Dandelion Dust 

Forget this—the shock of truth,
The resistance of dandelion dust.
Black dogs sleeping in our minds.
Mother Nature, stumbling into a truck stop,
Looking for a map, no watch on her wrist.
The drink was always called a Mind Eraser—
Amnesia or blur—either way, we were the chasers.

Chorus
Once, I saw some beautiful birds.
Once, I held your snow hair in my tiny hands.
Branches hung off that crooked coast.
Thick stew in my bowl, memories close.
But the secrets—naked and white—
In this cold, they burn too bright.

Let go of this—the bitter touch,
Trying to bandage what we don’t trust.
The black dogs still running through our minds,
Hollow logs filled with flowers.
But still, I can’t forget those hours—
Bathing in dandelion dust.

Chorus repeat
Once, I saw some beautiful birds.
Once, I held your snow hair in my tiny hands.
Branches hung off that crooked coast.
Thick stew in my bowl, memories close.
But the secrets—naked and white—
In this cold, they burn too bright.

I stopped at that windy truck stop,
Wondered if I left the party too soon.
Gathered wildflowers in the rain—
Inseparable from what bloomed.
And in a few months, we’ll pass by:
White knuckles gripping a new sky.
I won’t even notice you...
But still, I’ll hope it’s true.

Final Chorus
We saw those birds—they flew away.
Snow melted fast in my tiny hands that day.
The coastline bent, then disappeared.
The stew’s gone cold, but I remember the taste.
And I still remember the look on your face.