Song for the kids

Written half-awake in a hotel room, "song for the kids" begins in the fragile space between sleep and memory. Surrounded by unfamiliar voices from a breakfast kitchen, I was suddenly pulled back into the body of a ten-year-old child — a moment where safety still felt natural, love unquestioned, and the world not yet broken.

The song circles around that sensation: the shock of realizing how long it has been since one last felt truly safe, and the quiet grief of adulthood that follows. With restrained instrumentation and intimate phrasing, the lyrics move between innocence and disillusion, between dream and consciousness, asking a question that never resolves:

How long can you keep a dream alive?

The refrain is not nostalgic. It is ethical.

This is not a song about childhood — it is a song about responsibility: the fragile hope that we might avoid repeating our mistakes, that we might refrain from “blowing up the world like crazy”, and instead protect the emotional landscape of those who come after us.

"Song for the kids" is a quiet vow, written from exhaustion, memory, and love — a reminder that the most radical act may simply be to make the world feel safe again, even if only for a minute or two.