Fist Full Of Nothing

There are days when the mind feels like a crowded room—voices arguing over a life that won’t sit still. “Fist Full Of Nothing” starts there: empty-handed but overburdened, caught between who you are and who you’re told to be. The verses walk that edge: the pressure to wear the “ways of today,” to keep the peace, to pretend. The storms don’t just blow through, they erase, turning old maps into ash. What mattered yesterday lies scattered at your feet.

The chorus answers with something simple and human: stop. Lie back on the concrete path. Count the stars. Let the world keep spinning without you. It’s not defeat; it’s a truce. A reminder that you’re allowed to step out of the rush, even if only for three minutes and change. In that pause, your breath gets louder than the noise. Your body remembers what calm feels like.

This song isn’t about giving up, it’s about regrouping. The bridge wonders out loud about the road ahead, what we trade to keep going, whether the fight is still worth it. Those questions don’t get tidy answers, but the asking itself is honest, and that honesty is the point. We don’t have to solve everything tonight. We just have to make space to hear ourselves think.

So if you’re overwhelmed, take the song at its word. Find a patch of ground, any ground. Let your eyes close. Feel the grass. Let the engines and deadlines blur into the distance. When you stand up again, the world will still be there, but you might not want to return to it in quite the same way. Maybe you’ll carry a little stillness back with you. Maybe you’ll take a different road. Either way, for the length of this song, you get to be weightless.