Author: Nine Lives Lost

Some songs arrive like whispers, others like storms. Broken Glass came somewhere in between. It is a story about moving through days that feel uncertain, about stepping into situations without thinking, about carrying burdens too heavy to name.

The imagery is sharp and fractured. A stranger offering a ride. A restless escape that ends at a river. Shoes tossed aside, walking barefoot into the unknown. The chorus anchors it all: that piercing sound, like a bullet in the head that won’t go away, echoing against a house of broken glass. It’s not just a home, but a prison, fragile and transparent, one you can never really hide inside.

The song explores themes of disconnection, lies we tell ourselves, and the loneliness of building walls so high no one can reach us. Each verse pulls you deeper into that blurred, dangerous space where truth slips away and everything feels uncertain. The bridge and later verses speak of chasing empty thrills, of stepping on mines you laid yourself, of tales that deceive and shadows that won’t let go.

For me, Broken Glass isn’t about one moment in time. It’s about the recurring cycle of doubt, isolation, and fragile hope. The way life can look so solid from the outside, yet be so dangerously thin when you’re living inside it.

It’s not an easy song, but it’s an honest one. Sometimes honesty feels like shards beneath your feet, cutting you open as you walk forward. That’s what this song tries to capture.

Back in the early 90s, when VHS tapes lined the shelves of every small-town video store, I found myself in Toowoomba. Just down the road from where I lived was a place called Plains Video. For most people, it was just a spot to rent movies, but for me, it became something much more.

There was a girl who worked there, and for reasons I still don’t fully understand, she became the center of a strange, shy, and slightly creepy crush. Each Sunday I’d wander down, pretending to browse the shelves, while really hoping to catch just a smile or glance in her direction. I’d even make up excuses to visit, borrowing movies I didn’t really want, just to step through those doors and maybe see her.

The song tells that story, from the small-town routines to the nervous smiles that never turned into conversations. Seasons came and went, and eventually she was gone. I thought that was the end of it, until one night at a nightclub when, out of nowhere, she grabbed me and kissed me twice before vanishing into the crowd. No words, just a moment that felt surreal and unforgettable.

My Plains Video Girl is a kooky, true account of that time in my life. It’s about youthful longing, missed chances, and the strange magic of one stolen kiss. Looking back, I can smile at how awkward and funny it all was, but at the same time, I still feel the warmth of that memory.

Some crushes fade, but others linger like the glow of a VHS tape paused too long on the screen. This was mine.

Some songs come from chasing ideas, and others appear because they cannot be held back. Your Smile belongs to the second kind.

I wrote it over 14 years ago, soon after my daughter was born. At that point, I had been through a damaging relationship and had convinced myself that I would never be a parent again. I thought that part of life had passed me by. Then, against all expectation, circumstances shifted, and this perfect little person came into my world.

The song itself is straightforward, but its meaning has only grown with time. Every day since, I have felt grateful beyond words. Everything people tell you about being a parent—the joy, the perspective, the way love reshapes you—turned out to be true. Her smile has always been more than just an expression. It has been a lifeline, a reminder that even after loss, there can be renewal, and that love can arrive when you least expect it.

I still sing Your Smile with the same feeling I had when I first wrote it. It may not be complicated, but it is honest. It was born from gratitude for a gift I almost missed out on, and it remains a reminder of how lucky I am to be her parent. Every day, I carry that blessing with me.

Bungled and Botched is a cynical reflection on how power quietly shapes the lives we lead. It speaks about the way corporations, governments, and even peers decide what we value, how we measure success, and what we consider freedom. The song looks at a world where people blindly follow, convinced they are free, but never aware of the strings that hold them in place.

The verses paint images of faceless crowds moving in lockstep, shoes split open and souls worn down. There is just enough rope to give the illusion of freedom, yet never enough to break away. We see masks worn to hide despair, pills swallowed to numb thought, and walls marked with symbols that mean nothing. It is a bleak cycle of repetition where people are told they are happy but cannot be sure if the life they live is even theirs.

Bungled and Botched offers no comfort and no escape. Instead, it holds up a mirror and forces us to look at the weight of delusion and conformity. It speaks to the hollow feeling of being caught in routines that drain purpose, of being alive without truly living. It is not a song of solutions but of recognition, pulling apart the lie and naming the prison that so many mistake for freedom.

For as long as I can remember, I have been at war with my own mind. Growing up, I did not know the word anxiety. I just knew something was wrong. For the first 25 years of my life I thought I was crazy, that the things I felt and the ways I reacted were proof that I was broken. The world around me did not help much either. In my youth, the most common prescription for my struggles was not therapy or medication. It was being told I needed “a good kick up the ass.” That was the reality. No understanding, no real help. Just a sense that I had to tough it out.

The Pain I Feel was born out of those years and everything that followed. It is not just a song. It is a reflection of my fight with mental health. I have lived through dissociation, hyper-awareness, extreme sensitivity to light and noise, and overwhelming confusion. I have had moments where I lost control completely, trying to get out of moving cars, developing full-on ticks, running from nothing I could name. At my lowest point, I locked myself away in my room for months, losing battle after battle, convinced I would never come out.

But then one day, I did. I found enough strength to step outside that room and reach out for help. And I was lucky enough to find a doctor who actually listened. That moment did not erase the struggle. I do not believe you ever “win” this fight. But it gave me the tools to begin managing it. For me, medication was not the answer, though I know it helps many. Instead, I had to find my own ways to cope, to push back against the monsters that never really go away.

That is what The Pain I Feel is about. The chorus is a cry of defiance:

I stand my ground, won’t back down,
Headfirst I dive into the fight.
You won’t see the fear in me,
I keep it hidden, out of sight.

It is about the war within, the fear buried so deep that no one else can see it. It is about fighting battles that never end, knowing the monsters will always return, but refusing to give up.

But there is another side to this story too, the people who were pulled into my darkness along the way. To my partners who stood by me during those hardest times: I am sorry. You deserved better than the chaos I brought into our lives. At the time, none of us knew what we were really up against. There was nothing you could have done, but you were there anyway. Your incredible support, even when I could not explain what I was going through, will always mean more to me than I can say. Thank you, truly.

Writing this song was not easy. It meant putting into words experiences I had spent years hiding. But it also gave me a kind of release. Music lets me say what I could not say out loud, and in that process, it connects me to others who might be going through the same thing.

I do not think anyone’s journey with anxiety or mental health is the same. Some people take medication. Some find therapy. Some find strength in faith, community, or art. I found a little of mine in writing this song. The problems never go away completely. If I get too tired, too worn down, they can still overwhelm me. But I have learned that as long as I keep fighting, I am not lost.

The Pain I Feel is for anyone who has ever sat in silence, hiding what they are going through, and for anyone who has ever felt like being “okay” was out of reach. If you have felt that, you will know the truth in this song. You are not alone in the fight.

There are moments in life when the pressure becomes unbearable. When the weight on your chest makes it hard to breathe, when every step feels like dragging yourself through mud, and when you smile on the outside but inside you are crumbling. Help is born from that place.

This song is about hiding pain behind a mask, keeping up appearances while quietly hoping someone will notice and pull you through. It captures the suffocating silence of being surrounded by people yet feeling completely alone. The lyrics follow the spiral of exhaustion, disconnection, and despair, but at its heart, it is a cry for help. Not the casual kind, but the desperate kind that comes from deep inside when you know you cannot carry the burden any longer.

Help speaks to the universal truth that even the strongest people sometimes need saving. It is for anyone who has ever whispered in the dark that they cannot keep going, and for anyone who has wished someone would hear their silent scream.

The song is heavy, raw, and deeply vulnerable, but also a reminder that asking for help is not weakness. It is a step toward finding light in the darkest moments.

Some songs are meant to comfort, while others are meant to challenge. “Anything At All” walks the line between both. It is a song built on contrast, where the verses and chorus almost argue with one another.

The verses give space for hope. They acknowledge mistakes, the price already paid, and the distractions that blind us, but they also hint at possibility. The verses carry the idea that change is still within reach, that if we believe and stand together, there is something worth saving.

The chorus, however, cuts through with the harder truth. It points out how often we repeat the same mistakes, how quickly we look for someone else to blame, and how easy it is to talk about change while doing nothing to bring it about. The repeated refrain “we do it again, and again, and again” drives home the cycle of words without action.

By the time the final chorus arrives, the message lands with full weight. We say the right things, but we do not follow through. Fear of failure holds us back, and so we end up doing nothing at all.

At its heart, “Anything At All” is about disparity. It reminds us that words without action are empty, but it also leaves a spark of hope in the verses. The song asks the question we often avoid: will we keep doing nothing, or will we finally choose to act?

In life, it is so easy to get caught up in the rush of everything else: work, stress, plans, distractions. Sometimes we forget the most important truth: love is a gift. Not the grand gestures, not the rare celebrations, but the quiet, everyday presence of someone who chooses to be there with you.

“Thanks To You” was written with that in mind. It is not a complicated piece, and that is deliberate. Instead, it is a heartfelt thank you, sung in appreciation of the person whose love changes everything. Every smile, every laugh, every gentle word is something we too often take for granted, but in reality, they are the moments that steady us, heal us, and remind us we are not alone.

The verses are filled with gratitude: for time spent, for kindness freely given, for the comfort of a smile, for the healing power of love. The chorus lifts this into a promise, that through good times and bad, through light and dark, love is what carries us. It is both a declaration and a reminder. Words may never be enough, but love lived out in action always is.

The bridge brings the heart of the song into focus: light pushing back the dark, love steadying the heart, hope returning when it was nearly lost. It is about how the right person can change everything simply by being there.

At its core, “Thanks To You” is not about complicated storytelling. It is about gratitude. It is about pausing to recognize the miracle of being loved and the responsibility of never taking it for granted.

This song is both a thank you and a promise. A thank you to the one who gives their love so freely, and a promise to always remember that the most important things in life are often the simplest: time, presence, kindness, and love.

Some songs sit in the “maybe pile” for years before they finally ask to be heard again. “Tell Me Something” is one of those songs, an older piece I nearly left behind but could not quite let go of. When I dusted it off and gave it a fresh coat of paint, I found that its core still resonated with me: the sense of rushing through life, stumbling from one chapter to the next, and quietly searching for comfort and understanding as the years slip by.

The verses move quickly, almost like snapshots: eyes opening in wonder, fighting the good fight, losing our way, and running headlong into the race of living. The chorus is the plea at the centre of it all, a need to be reassured that we will be okay, that time is still on our side, and that change is possible even when it feels like we are running out of road.

This song also carries threads that appear in other pieces I have written. I like to repeat themes across a family of songs, ideas that reappear in different forms, like echoes of the same story told at different points in time. Parts of “Tell Me Something” have slipped into other tracks over the years, but returning to the original reminded me why I wrote it in the first place.

It is not about certainty, it is about the yearning for it. It is about holding on to words of comfort, even if you do not fully believe them, because sometimes that is enough to get you through the next step in the journey.

Breakups always come with a chorus of voices trying to make you feel better. Friends, family, even strangers will say the same things: “time heals,” “you’ll be okay,” “you’ll move on,” or “they don’t know what they lost.” But when your world has been turned upside down, those words do not land. They feel like clichés that cannot touch the reality of what you are going through.

That is the heart of “You Promised Me Forever.”
This song is not about finding the silver lining right away. It is about being stuck in the heaviness, staring at the wreckage, and trying to process how something that was supposed to last forever ended so suddenly. It is about waiting for a call that never comes, replaying memories, and wondering what went wrong when no answers ever arrive.

The chorus makes that frustration plain:
“So don’t tell me time will heal,
And don’t say I’ll be okay.
Don’t tell me I’ll move on,
It doesn’t feel that way.”

We wanted this song to speak for anyone who has heard those platitudes and thought: “That is easy for you to say.” Because sometimes what you need is not advice. What you need is to be understood, to have someone admit that your pain is real and it hurts like hell.

“You Promised Me Forever” is our way of putting that feeling into words and music. It is a reminder that grief has no timeline, heartbreak has no shortcuts, and some promises, once broken, leave a mark that lasts much longer than anyone will admit.

Some songs stay with you forever, not because they are perfect, but because they capture a moment in time so clearly that rewriting them feels almost impossible. I Knew You From School is one of those songs.

This song is about one of the most amazing and short-lived romances of my life. I was in Year 12, a time when every feeling seemed larger than life, when the smallest moments felt like milestones. She was someone extraordinary, and for reasons I will never fully understand, I was lucky enough to have her attention for a short period. It was brief, but it changed me, and even now, decades later, I look back with gratitude.

The lyrics reflect the rush of those days — seeing her dance through the crowd, laughing in the rain, sitting together in the park on what felt like the best night of my life. They are raw, written as I remembered them, not polished or perfect, but honest. They hold onto the innocence of that time, the excitement of falling in love for the first time, and the heartbreak of losing something you thought would last forever.

Even though I never truly understood what went wrong, it was still one of the greatest love stories of my life. It taught me about joy, about loss, and about treasuring the moments that pass too quickly. Thirty years later, I still wonder how she is, still feel that echo of youth when I think of her, and still carry the weight of what was left unsaid.

One day I may rewrite this song, but for now, it remains exactly as it was born — a rough sketch of a love that was real, powerful, and unforgettable. I Knew You From School is a reminder that even short chapters can leave the deepest marks, and sometimes the most fleeting loves are the ones that stay with you forever.

There are moments when music has to say what words alone cannot. Nothing Left to Steal is one of those moments. Written as a protest against corporate greed and the relentless grind of modern life, the song confronts the reality of how much we give away for so little in return. We swap our precious time for money, our days for fluorescent lights and endless stairs, our freedom for the illusion of stability.

The verses describe the weight of everyday existence inside a system designed to drain us. Concrete underfoot, buzzing lights overhead, shoes heavy with every step. These are not just images of workplaces, they are symbols of a cycle that strips away humanity piece by piece. Yet the chorus pushes back with defiance. You may think you own me, you may think that was our deal, but there is a limit to what can be taken. There is nothing left here to steal.

As the song builds, it turns from despair to resistance. The call to wake up, to speak up, and to demand change burns through the later verses. The song is not only about suffering under the system but about finding the courage to break it. It points to the truth that real change does not come from compliance but from refusal, from solidarity, and from refusing to let our voices be silenced.

Nothing Left to Steal is both a protest and a reminder. The system may be powerful, but it only survives if we keep feeding it. Once we realise that, there is nothing left for them to take.

There are times when it feels like the world is full of voices telling us what to think, how to feel, and what to follow. “Lie With the Saints” was written as a response to that culture of influence. The song asks why so many people put their trust in figures who do not deserve it, who either do not know what they are doing or simply do not care about the damage they cause. It is a critique of the influencer mindset and a reflection on how easily people can be led when they are searching for answers.

The verses weave images of false leaders calling for wars that never arrive, setting fires they cannot contain, and hiding behind pride while their lies spread. These characters march with conviction but without purpose, propped up by delusion and controlled by those who hold real power. Their words may sound convincing, but the song exposes them as empty, harmful, and unworthy of the trust they demand.

The chorus makes the central point clear. This was never a war, so what are you fighting for? It is a call-out to those who manufacture causes for the sake of ego or profit. The song paints the struggle on walls that fade as quickly as the next trending ideology. In the end, the lines they draw are fake, offering nothing more than a choice between dancing with monsters or lying with saints.

The bridge drives home the warning. Believing your way is the only way, speaking loudly enough to sway the masses, does not make you right. Pride and blame may keep people locked in place, but change is impossible without self-reflection.

“Lie With the Saints” is not just about pointing fingers at influencers or false leaders. It is about the responsibility we all share to look deeper, to question who we follow, and to remember that pride without truth only leads us further astray.

There are songs that you polish, rewrite, and refine until they shine. Then there are songs like Come Back Someday. Written many years ago, this one has stayed almost exactly as it was the day it came out. It is not perfect, and it was never meant to be. It is raw, unfiltered emotion captured in the middle of heartbreak, and we kept it that way because it still speaks to that time in life.

The song is about longing for someone who has gone, the sleepless nights wondering where they are, the sting of imagining them with someone else, and the quiet hope that maybe, one day, they will find their way back. It moves between pain and acceptance, between wanting them to be happy and wishing that happiness could still be with you.

The repeated choruses carry the heartbeat of the song, a mixture of prayer, patience, and persistence. Even in the face of loss, there is the belief that tomorrow might be better, that time might heal, and that love might return.

Come Back Someday is not just about the person it was written for. It is about anyone who has held on to hope even when it felt impossible. It is about the kind of love that leaves an imprint you cannot ignore, even years later. And sometimes, it is about leaving the words exactly as they were, because they still hold the truth of who you were when you wrote them.

Sometimes, all it takes to keep going is knowing someone has your back. I’m OK was written for that person, the one who is always there no matter how hard the day or how loud the noise of the world becomes.

The song opens with the reassurance that even when life is messy, you can keep moving forward because you know someone is waiting for you at the end of the road. That image carries through every chorus, showing that no matter the distance or the challenges, there is a safe place and a safe person who makes it all worthwhile.

The verses take us into the struggle, feeling judged, misunderstood, and caught in the relentless grind of daily life. Yet each time the weight feels too much, there is a reminder of that anchor, that constant presence who has sheltered you from the rain and chased the darkness away.

The bridge makes it personal. It is not just about being supported, but about being saved again and again by someone you trust completely. That is where the song’s heart beats the loudest, in the gratitude and love for the person who refuses to let you fall.

At its core, I’m OK is a love letter to unwavering loyalty. It is a celebration of friendship, partnership, and the rare kind of connection that gives you the courage to stand tall when the world tries to knock you down.