3AM in Echo Park

[ Lyrics ]

Me, my mic, and a thousand tries…

Candle’s low, wax on the floor,
coffee gone cold, same three chords.
I sang it sharp, then flat, then plain—
nothing sticks, just static in my brain.
Fifth take down, click delete,
head back, laugh at my own repeat.
That broken riff — the one from June —
sounds like truth tangled in a fuse.

And the city hums but it’s far away,
no one’s watching, no one to pay.
Just the hum of the fridge and the mic’s soft light —
I’m not chasing hits, I’m chasing right.

Me, my mic, and a thousand tries,
searching for the verse that feels like truth inside.
No filters, no crowd, no disguise —
just the ghost in the line and the fire in my eyes.

Found a phrase in the shower steam,
caught it quick like a half-dream.
Wrote it backwards on a sticky note,
crossed it out, then sang it low.
Layer the highs, then ghost the lows,
stack my voice like bricks in snow.
You don’t hear this — no release —
this is prayer, not a plea for peace.

And the clock says quit, but my chest says stay,
got a riff in my bones I can’t throw away.
If no one ever hears it, that’s alright —
I’m not singing for fame, I’m fighting the night.

Me, my mic, and a thousand tries,
searching for the verse that feels like truth inside.
No filters, no crowd, no disguise —
just the ghost in the line and the fire in my eyes.

One more run — that’s the one.
That’s the gasp before the sun.
That’s the crack in the chest I let in,
That’s the start of the hymn.

Me, my mic, and the first real cry,
found the verse that don’t sound like a lie.
No permission, no apology —
this is mine, and it’s holy.

…that’s the one.