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Author: Nine Lives Lost
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Just Pretend
The day drips away, such wasted time,
Mourning moments that weren’t even mine.
Memories blur and they turn to grey,
They lose their shape and fade away.You’re out of sight and out of mind,
I’ve left the past somewhere behind.
I have no idea what it is I feel,
I don’t know, if I ever will.One day soon, I’ll find a reason to stay.
One day soon, I’ll find my own way.
One day soon, I’ll know where I stand.
One day soon, I’ll know who I am.What if this is as good as it gets?
What if I never find the fix?
What if this is the best I can do?
What if I can never tell you the truth?I wear failure like a second skin,
But nothing drowns the ache within.
Dizzy and sick as the planet spins,
I repeat the same mistakes again and again.One day soon, I’ll find a reason to stay.
One day soon, I’ll find my own way.
One day soon, I’ll know where I stand.
One day soon, I’ll know who I am.I just want to be like everyone else,
Get by without hating myself.
Step into the spotlight, out of the rain,
I just want to start all over again.I am a faker, I do it well.
Close to my chest, no one can tell.
I tell myself these lies are true,
And there’s nothing more that I can do.Where do you go when there’s nowhere to go?
What do you show when there’s nothing to show?
Where do you go when there’s nowhere to go?
What do you show when there’s nothing to show?
Where do you go when there’s nowhere to go?One day soon, I’ll find a reason to stay.
One day soon, I’ll find my own way.
One day soon, I’ll know where I stand.
One day soon, I’ll know who I am.What if I can’t stop living this lie?
What if I never figure out why?
If I opened my eyes, would I see,
Who I am, or who I’m meant to be?This life is just a trick of the light.
I hold on tight but it’s passing me by.
I don’t know if any of this is real.
And I’m not sure if I ever will. -
Goodbye
This is a song we never wanted to write — but needed to. It’s about losing Mum. She was our rock. The strongest, kindest person in the room. The kind who lifted others even when she was carrying more than anyone knew. Her laughter filled the house, her strength held it together, and when she left… everything changed.
The song reflects on what was lost — the quiet spaces that feel louder now, the daily moments that aren’t quite the same. But it’s not just about grief. It’s about gratitude. It’s about remembering her positivity and holding on to the way she lived: fully, bravely, and with so much love.
It’s also a reminder: we don’t get forever with the people we love. So we have to show up. Make time. Say the things that matter. Mum taught us that. And though she’s gone, that part of her is still here — in every hug that lasts a little longer, in every day we choose joy, in every small moment we don’t take for granted.
Because in the end, it’s not really goodbye. They are never really gone if you keep them alive. Hold on to the love and pass it around.
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Goodbye
I came back one dark grey December,
Returned to the place I once called home.
I searched for something I’d remember,
But it wasn’t the place I’d known.I walked through the once-manicured gardens,
Once seas of bloom and buzzing bees,
Tugging gently at old memories,
They meant the world to me.And I know that things must change,
I know they can’t stay the same.
As one day fades, a new one wakes,
We say goodbye to the worlds we make.No light shining down the driveway,
No creak of the old front gate.
No pumpkin soup on the table waiting,
No crackling fire in the fireplace.No dogs running out to greet me,
No sheep wandering all around,
No cows calling up from the valley,
No frogs in the tank croaking now.The rusty henhouse stands deserted,
Grain lies spoilt on the ground.
Wild birds gather on the empty feeders,
Searching hopelessly, looking all around.The plants are tired and softly wilting,
The grass once green is dusty brown.
Unwelcome weeds creep through forgotten gardens,
Faded flowers fall to the ground.And I know that things must change,
I know they can’t stay the same.
As one day fades, a new one wakes,
We say goodbye to the worlds we make.No laughter echoes down the hallway,
No breakfast sizzling on the stove.
No bread on the benchtop cooling,
No more of the homemade jam we loved.No Christmas lights blinking brightly,
No more family photos on the walls,
No sewing machine humming away,
No fresh-baked biscuits anymore.When I look back on days dearly treasured,
The missing moments bring the pain.
I’ll never again take a second for granted,
How fast things change and change again.And I know I can no longer see you,
But it still feels like you are near.
You once said, “We are so lucky,
It’s a wonderful, wonderful world.”Hold the things you love , they’re fleeting.
Once they’re gone, they’re gone for good.
Hold the things you love so tightly,
You’d bring them back, you know you would. -
Emperor’s New Clothes
This song came out of frustration, plain and simple. Frustration with a world that often rewards style over substance, noise over meaning, performance over truth.
We wrote The Emperor’s New Clothes as a response to the growing culture of empty influence, where people build entire identities out of borrowed imagery, fake virtue, and curated perfection, all while the rest of us watch, follow, like, and scroll.
It’s not aimed at one person or group, it’s bigger than that. It’s about how easily we all get swept up in the illusion. How the louder and shinier something is, the more we seem to trust it. And how, in the end, we’re left consuming what’s essentially poisoned air and dirty water, just to stay in the loop.
The term “rice paper people” came to us as a way to describe those fragile, beautiful-looking constructs, people who look impressive from a distance but crumble when you get close.
This song isn’t just critical, it’s a warning, and maybe even a confession. We’ve all played the game in one way or another. But maybe it’s time we stopped pretending the emperor is wearing anything at all.
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Emperor’s New Clothes
They want to be the emperor,
They’re wearing his clothes,
Looking like a million dollars,
From their head down to their toes,
Strutting down the road,
Wherever it goes,
These rice paper people,
Looking so fine,
In the emperor’s new clothes.They turn all the lights on,
They turn up the sound,
They need to be seen,
They need to be loud.
The more noise they make,
The more gather around,
And we drink their dirty water,
And eat their scraps off the ground.They made to be princes,
They were made to be kings,
They make lots of noise,
But don’t say anything.
Throwing love to the loveless,
But none of it is real,
Only caring who’s watching,
And how good it feels.They want to be the emperor,
They’re wearing his clothes,
Looking like a million dollars,
From their head down to their toes,
Strutting down the road,
Wherever it goes,
These rice paper people,
Looking so fine,
In the emperor’s new clothes.So they do what they do,
There isn’t much that they won’t,
They do it for the likes,
They do it for the votes.
And we follow blindly,
We eat up lies and all,
We inject it in our veins,
And keep coming back for more.Who cares if they’re phonies,
Who cares if they’re fakes?
More food for the villains,
Just saying what they say.
And they’re getting rich,
Golden idols all around,
Hearts and souls broken,
Scattered on the ground.They want to be the emperor,
They’re wearing his clothes,
Looking like a million dollars,
From their head down to their toes,
Strutting down the road,
Wherever it goes,
These rice paper people,
Looking so fine,
In the emperor’s new clothes.But the lights still shine on,
The noise, still it rings,
So many stupid people,
Doing so many stupid things.
I can’t understand it,
Is this the best we can be?
So vane, so insane,
So completely crazy.But none of us notice,
Or none of us care,
We drink the poisoned water,
We inhale the polluted air.
Is it just a delusion,
Or could it all be real?
We’ve become so dumb, so very numb,
And we’re told how we should feel.They want to be the emperor,
They’re wearing his clothes,
Looking like a million dollars,
From their head down to their toes,
Strutting down the road,
Wherever it goes,
These rice paper people,
Looking so fine,
In the emperor’s new clothes. -
Maybe
This is a song about losing someone you care deeply for, and how, when the weight of that loss hits, it’s often easier to retreat into the past than face what comes next.
It’s not about healing. Not yet. It’s about that in-between space where the world keeps turning, but you don’t. Where memories become lifelines, stretched thin to keep someone with you just a little longer.
It’s a story of loss, of not coping well, of building a quiet shelter out of echoes and routines. A place where you replay moments over and over because moving on feels like letting go of something sacred.
This song doesn’t offer answers. It simply holds space for the ache.
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Maybe
Maybe I can take these moments and make them longer.
Maybe I can take these walls and make them stronger
Maybe I can take this load and make it lighter.
Maybe I can take this day and make it brighter.I spend these nights missing my friend,
And with each waking day, I miss them again.
But this is my cup, I won’t give it up.
I did what I could, but it wasn’t enough.Hiding in bed, beneath the covers,
Trapped by the weight of the words of others.
These sheets are tangled ’round my feet,
I try to move, but can’t break free.I’ve made mistakes without even knowing.
I’ve felt the storm winds blowing.
I’ve watched the floodwaters growing.
But I didn’t know you were going.Maybe I can take this sound and make it louder.
Maybe I can take this flame and put it out now.
Maybe I can take these bad days and throw them away.
Maybe I can take these memories and keep them safe.Maybe I can take these moments and make them longer.
Maybe I can take these walls and make them stronger.
Maybe I can take this load and make it lighter.
Maybe I can take this day and make it brighter.Maybe I can take this sound and make it louder.
Maybe I can take this flame and put it out now.
Maybe I can take these bad days and throw them away.
Maybe I can take these memories and keep them safe.I spend these nights missing my friend,
And with each waking day, I miss them again.
But this is my cup, I won’t give it up.
I did what I could, but it wasn’t enough. -
I Don’t Know
We wrote this song for a friend who was trapped in a difficult relationship—one they deeply wanted to leave, but couldn’t.
Their reasons were tangled: maybe it was the comfort of routine, the fear of being alone, the weight of financial strain, or the uncertainty of starting over. Whatever the cause, they stayed—stuck somewhere between longing for freedom and fearing what that freedom might cost.
This song is about that quiet limbo. The aching indecision. The days spent wondering if it’s worse to stay or to go. It’s not about clear answers—it’s about the complicated, messy space in between.
Our friend is still there.
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GT Or Not GT?
A peek inside how Nine Lives Lost uses AI to prototype real human stories through music.
Let’s get one thing straight: the heart of our music has always been human.
At Nine Lives Lost, every lyric we write, every story we tell, and every chord we strum starts in the real world — with lived experiences, personal moments, and that undeniable need to say something that matters. But getting those stories from a half-sung demo into a full track that people can hear? That takes time, money, space, and a full band’s worth of gear we don’t always have lying around.
That’s where GT — generative technology — comes in.
We don’t use AI to write our songs. We don’t ask it to guess what we’re feeling. What we do is take our raw material — hand-written lyrics, simple guitar or keyboard demos — and use AI production tools to shape them into working prototypes. These aren’t final tracks. They’re sketches. Test runs. Early blueprints. A way for us to hear what a full arrangement might sound like without booking a studio or wrangling five players.
The Process
Our process is simple but intentional:
- We write all the lyrics ourselves — always. This project is about the things we want to say. The focus, emotion and tone are 100% human and based on our experience or thoughts on a subject.
- We produce a rough demo or record light acoustic or keyboard demos to lock in rhythm and pace.
- Then we feed those bones into AI tools that help shape instrumental production and basic arrangement.
- We maintain tight control over the tone, rhythm, pace, and emotional atmosphere.
- The vocal melodies are guided by us, but often nudged by AI — it sometimes surprises us in good ways.
- We sometimes add real instruments or vocals to the prototypes.
- If a prototype resonates, we will aim to re-record it ourselves or with live musicians at some point in the future.
The end result? A collection of demo-level tracks that sound far more polished than they have any right to — giving us the space to test ideas, try alternate moods, and build our sound without burning out.
Why We Do It
We’re not trying to trick anyone. The tracks we release using AI are labeled as such and will never be the final version if they end up meaning something to us — or to you. They are a means to stay creative, not a replacement for real musicianship.
In a world where most independent artists are juggling full-time jobs, families, and rent, AI is a compromise — not a shortcut. It helps small teams like ours get further down the track (pun intended) without giving up what matters: the story, the soul, the honesty.
And that’s the thing — we let AI assist, but never lead. Every Nine Lives Lost song is born from truth. Every lyric is real. Every melody starts with a moment we lived. What GT gives us is the ability to keep moving forward even when the resources aren’t there. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, it even surprises us with something we didn’t expect — and wouldn’t have tried on our own.
So… GT or not GT?
We say: GT, but only with heart. Only when it serves the story. Only when it helps humans be more human.That’s the Nine Lives Lost way.
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I Don’t Know
This road is killing me,
So tired I can’t see,
A weight on top of me,
So heavy I can’t breathe.But I can’t stay, and I can’t leave,
What ever happened to you and me?
I Reach out my hand, wondering,
‘Cause I don’t know.At war again tonight,
Who is wrong, who is right?
Too tired to fight this fight,
Close my eyes, turn off the light.But I can’t stay, and I can’t leave,
What ever happened to you and me?
I Reach out my hand, trembling,
‘Cause I don’t know.These shoes old and worn,
This heart ripped and torn,
This will almost gone,
This road, so hard and long.But I can’t stay, and I can’t leave,
What ever happened to you and me?
I Reach out my hand, hurting,
‘Cause I don’t know.But I have to say,
I want to stay,
But I just can’t
Go on this way.
And everyday,
We forget what we say,
We walk away,
And pretend we’re ok.Grab my things, got to move on,
Find a place I belong,
Thought we’re fine, I was wrong.
I tried so hard, but now I’m done.But I can’t stay, I have to leave,
What once we had, long left me,
Take that first step, stumbling,
‘Cause I don’t know.Open road in front of me,
As far as I can see,
Afraid of what might be,
All alone, but I am free.But I couldn’t stay, I had to leave,
What once we had, a distant memory,
Another step, I’ll keep moving,
And I don’t know.But I couldn’t stay, I had to leave,
What once we had, a distant memory,
Another step, I’ll keep moving,
And I don’t know. -
Sharing is caring
It started with a borrowed guitar and a restless heart. The first chords I strummed were rough, unpolished, but they carried something I couldn’t put into words—a longing, a search for something both deeply personal and universally understood.
I never set out to write alternative folk music; it found me in the quiet moments, in the spaces between conversations, in the echoes of old stories passed down. The songs weren’t just mine—they felt like they belonged to the open road, the midnight thinkers, the ones searching for a sound that felt like home.
That’s when I realized something: music isn’t meant to be owned. It’s meant to be lived in. The songs I wrote weren’t just for me; they were for anyone who needed them, anyone who could take them and shape them into their own stories.
So I started sharing—not just the recordings, but the chords, the lyrics, the space for others to step in and make the music their own. Because a song isn’t alive until someone else sings it back to you.
And that’s why I do this—why I write, why I share, why I let the music go. Because in the end, the best songs aren’t the ones that belong to a single voice. They’re the ones that belong to everyone.