Breathe | You Are Home is the final movement of The Resurrection Series - the moment where everything that was held, questioned, and carried gives way to something new. After the silence, after the waiting, after what felt like nothing… breath returns.

This piece doesn’t push or explain. It opens. It moves from stillness into release, where the weight is gone and what remains is simple, certain, and true:

You are not lost. You are not outside of it. You are home.

The rising Hallelujah is not a reaction - it is the natural response to what has already been restored.

What Feels Like Nothing lives in the space most people try to avoid - the quiet where nothing seems to be happening. It moves through the tension between noise and stillness, showing that silence is not absence, but presence. What feels empty is not empty. What feels like nothing is where something deeper is already at work.

This piece reflects the unseen moment between surrender and renewal - the place where everything appears still, yet everything is already changing.

Part of The Resurrection Series, it reveals that even in silence, you are not alone—and nothing is wasted.

Resurrection Hallelujah is the moment everything changes. Not around you—but within you.

It moves from what was buried into what is now alive, where the weight no longer defines you and the story you were living is no longer the one you have to carry.

This is not just about what was overcome. It’s about what you become when it no longer holds you.

I Lay It Down is an intimate worship song about surrender, release, and the quiet moment of letting go at the cross.

For those who carry more than most—leaders, caregivers, and those walking in their calling—this song is a reminder that you were never meant to carry it alone.

It moves from the weight of Good Friday into personal surrender, and into gratitude for the life we’ve been given beyond the pain—where the streets are gold and the soul is made whole.

You were chosen. You are carried. You are covered.

Drinking Shadows | Calling It Life moves through the moment where everything has been poured out and only what is essential remains.

It reflects the tension between what we reach for and what actually gives life—between what fills for a moment and what sustains beyond it.

At its core, it is a turning point: from surface to source, from empty to returning, from shadow to what is real.

The Lamb’s Breath is a cinematic, intimate piece about what happens when you finally let go of what you were never meant to carry.

It moves through the quiet moment of release—where the weight lifts, the pressure eases, and something deeper takes hold.

Not force. Not noise.

A presence that steadies, restores, and reminds you that you are not alone.

This is the moment where surrender becomes peace.

“Swamp Serenade ’63 and Me” returns to a single night that never let go.

Set in Shreveport, Louisiana at the historic Municipal Auditorium — home of the Louisiana Hayride stage where legends once stood — the song captures a fleeting moment between two people beneath low lights and rising music.

A glance across the room, a turn in the hall, and the quiet knowing that some nights don’t fade… they follow you home.

Blending southern atmosphere with timeless emotion, this is a story of presence, possibility, and the echo of something that never quite let go.

This track lives in the space between motion and breath. Built on a funky jazz groove with expressive saxophone, gritty soul textures, and a slow-burn rhythmic pocket, it explores what happens when control gives way to gravity.

The vocal delivery is raw and intimate—strength carried through restraint, desire expressed through movement rather than words. Spoken-word moments and breath create tension, while the groove stays grounded and physical.

The song was composed to stand on its own as an audio experience, and also serves as the foundation for a cinematic dance film centered on aerial movement, suspension, and stillness.

This is not a song that rushes to resolve. It lingers—by design.

Ton Oui, Mon Cœur (Your Yes Became My Beating Heart) is a reflection on the moment that made a life possible. Before memory, before understanding, there was a decision. A quiet “yes” that carried forward into everything that followed.

This piece moves between English and Cajun French, not as translation, but as depth - two ways of holding the same truth. The story began in New Orleans, Louisiana.

It is a song about being given life, about being carried through what we cannot see, and about the unseen thread that turns even pain into something that continues.

Some stories are never fully known. But the life that comes from them is. And sometimes, that is enough.