Crucified Son

Everything seems to be falling into place - applause, lights, aeroplanes, a beautiful life with the word ‘success’ written on the window. But somewhere beneath this glitz, there is a nagging feeling of fatigue, like a one-way ticket. It seems like the whole world is patting him on the back and saying, ‘Lucky guy,’ but inside, there is an echo: what exactly is he lucky for, and what is the benefit of it all?

He sings as if confessing to a crime he did not commit. In every chord, there is the bitter aftertaste of fame, mixed with the dust of the road between Houston and Nashville. And in this wandering repentance, there is a strange calm: let them nail him to the stage, at least they know his name.