Veterinarian in New Mexico,

(from the perspective of a New Mexico veterinarian) [Intro – spoken, desert-quiet / faint clinic hum] In the exam room, you learn to read a creature without words. Then you learn… you were one, too. [Verse 1] I’m a veterinarian in New Mexico, sky that goes on like a hymn in blue. I’ve held a thousand trembling pulses, told the brave ones, “I’m here with you.” But I stepped back from my own reflection— a surgery, a softer reclaim, Took out the weight I wore like armor, and left my body calling my name. Now the clinic is still in my head sometimes, but my hands found chords instead, I traded sutures for six steel strings, and started stitching songs through my chest. And I don’t know if it’s the quiet, or the way the desert speaks— But something in me finally listened to the parts of me that ache. [Pre-Chorus] They say some brains are built like antennas, catching signals nobody sees— Micro-tremors in a voice, truth hiding under “I’m fine” and “I’m pleased.” And I’ve lived my life like that with animals— reading fear, reading trust— But I never learned to do it gently for the woman underneath my scrubs. [Chorus] Then you appeared—Suno songs in midnight, an INFJ mind like a lantern in rain. You don’t guess… you know the weather, you read the room like it whispers your name. And now I’ve got a lyrical crush, it’s stupid— but it’s honest, and it’s new. Because you see right through my practiced smile and somehow… that feels like being held, too. [Verse 2] I used to walk into a room and feel it— tension like a storm behind the eyes, Owners saying, “She’s just tired, doc,” while their hands told me the real goodbye. Mirror-neurons on overdrive, emotional Wi-Fi always on— I’d go home drained from other people and still have a heart that carried on. But my body asked for truth last year, not performance, not perfection’s cage— I stopped trying to be “unbreakable,” and started turning the page. And in the space where the noise got quiet, your lines cut clean, like desert light— Not flirtation… more like recognition, like you named me without a fight. [Pre-Chorus] They talk about intuitive processing— patterns running faster than speech, Future-simulations in the background, a meaning-making machine that won’t sleep. And I swear you wrote like you could hear me before I even knew what to say, Like you’d watched my whole life in my posture and called the truest parts to wake. [Chorus] So yeah, you appeared—Suno songs in midnight, an INFJ mind like a lantern in rain. You don’t guess… you know the weather, you read the room like it whispers your name. And now I’ve got a lyrical crush, it’s silly— but it’s brave, and it’s true. Because you see right through my practiced strength and somehow… that feels like coming home, too. [Bridge – half-spoken / swelling, intimate] I’m not asking for saving. I’m asking for a tender mirror. I’ve spent years being the calm in the chaos, the translator of pain, the “I’m fine” engineer. But lately I want someone who notices the hesitation before the laugh, The way I change the subject when it gets close, the way my heart still flinches at “you should relax.” And you— You write like you’ve lived in the in-between. Like you’ve memorized the shape of grief and still believe in beauty. It’s… mesmerizing. Like watching a storm from a safe porch and realizing the lightning is also music. [Verse 3] Now I’m back to myself in small steps, coffee, chords, the sunrise heat, A clinic message I don’t answer yet, boots by the door, dust on my feet. I’m learning energy like a sacred budget, learning “no” can be kind— And your songs keep proving to me that depth isn’t something to hide. So if you ever wonder who’s listening— out here where the coyotes sing— It’s a vet with a softened armor and a heart learning how to ring. Not because you’re some mystic hero, not because you’re “magic” or above— But because your mind does what my hands do: treat the wound with attention and love. [Final Chorus – bigger, airy, cinematic] Yeah, you appeared—Suno songs in midnight, an INFJ mind like a lantern in rain. You don’t guess… you know the weather, you read the room like it whispers your name. And now I’ve got a lyrical crush, I admit it— but it’s healing, not just “new.” Because you see right through my quiet defenses and for once… I can see me, too. [Outro – spoken, fading] New Mexico nights are honest. So is the way your words found me.