From the 7GS album: “Eightfold” 💿 Lyrics: There was a child, before the vocabulary… Creative. Perceptive. Altogether Different wiring… Watching every room breathe. I knew the weather, in a silence. I knew, when something, wasn’t right. But knowing, isn’t the same, as naming. and naming, isn’t always safe, at, night. So I kept fragments: a melody. a sentence. a title. a voice, memo… a feeling, I couldn’t, explain. Then one day, the fragment asked, for air… Give it a voice! Don’t make it smaller, so it fits. If the truth arrives, singin’, let everyone around, hear it! Give it a body. Give it a rhythm. Give it somewhere, to land. I don’t have to, become less alive… to make myself, understandable. (Understandable) To make myself, understandable… (understandable…) Grandma has a melody. Michael, has one, too. Al has roads, and questions. Music, has rooms; That I, once walked, through. Heartbreak, has headlights. Childhood has, Christmas Memories. Religion, has a doorway, I still don’t know, whether, to enter… Driving turns memory, sideways. A song, invokes, a year. A voice becomes evidence: I was here. I felt this. I survived, it! I write, as I’m transforming. I document, while I become. My art, isn’t vapid. It’s a record, of the weather. Wanda tells stories. Noble Truths, open the door. The storyteller says: come closer. Not celebrity… Not spectacle… A life, that looked ordinary from the outside; while carrying a cinema… underneath… Lucy says: speak the hurt. Krystal says: find, a rhythm. Orah says: look again. And Elodie says: now, let it out. Seven, perspectives. Not seven, masks. Not seven, singers, competing for the same sentences. Different windows… Looking out, on… The same… weather. Give it a voice! Don’t make it smaller, so it fits. If the truth arrives, singin’, let everyone around, hear it! Give it a body. Give it a rhythm. Give it somewhere, to land. I don’t have to, become less alive… to make myself, understandable. (Understandable) To make myself, understandable… (understandable…) Give it a voice! Let culture carry, what memory started… Let the song, hold: grief! humor, desire, place, faith, rage, tenderness, and, art. Give it a voice! Let expression, be the bridge. Not away from human hands— But back, towards, them. From Summer Moons, to winter-dream. from Sour Grape to Genre, and Faith, from porch-light Tales… to worlds named, because plain language, wasn’t enough— I created names. so the meanings, wouldn’t disappear. And if a stranger finds one… let them bring their own life, with them. (With them. With them. Oh. Oh. With them!) With them. (With them. With them. Oh. Oh. Ooh-whoa-ooh-oh) [OUTRO] These songs, don’t explain me. These songs… let. me. speak! (Is that) Understandable?
