“Acquittal, Sublime”
(Julie Morrow)
Pabulum, she scries from me,
as voyeurs wait, unknowingly.
To be immersed within the crowd,
like seeds in dirt, like home to me.
An offering, her altar, wrecked
my candor and my openness.
The aridness, I falter—trip
up my demeanor, lethal kiss.
(Chorus)
Lying in wait to deface my love.
Fasten the gate to subdue the flood.
Offer myself in a holy rite.
Seeds in the crowd to engage the fight.
Pound out my rage in the curling vines.
Feel the ground quake in acquittal, sublime.
I bellow to the earth and to the bed
of grass that calls me home.
The comfort of the weighted mass
as clover blankets dreams of home,
dissociated from the task
I’m set to take, to howl, to moan.
The crowd, like seeds in dirt,
remind me of the place I call my own.
(Repeat Chorus)
I steel myself, she lurks in time.
I grant my rage some notes to climb,
like curlin’ vines of woodbine set
around the stage, I smell the pine.
Her consternation’s lacking depth
as I maintain the borderline
between the chains of decency,
and ardor like stale cherry wine.
(Bridge)
have you any rain?
any residue?
can I find myself
buried, encumbered, in you?
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Scrappy Soul”
(Julie Morrow)
I tore myself to pieces when
your icy gaze and callous heart
withdrew like grizzlies to their den,
as winter gales rip worlds apart.
Torn misfits from a magazine
fell to the ground in blunt array.
The scraps, like dust piled in a heap,
unkempt collage of me betrayed.
(Chorus)
My scrappy soul is torn for you.
I’d glue him back like Frankenstein.
I’d thaw the snowy banks for you.
To soothe your heart, I’d shatter mine.
The broken glass, the bottles strewn.
Forgotten promises forgone.
The tousled hair, the sullied rooms.
No recompense—just me, the fawn.
My dreams in scraps beneath your feet,
reminders of what could have been.
The wayward artist mistook me
for discards, left me for the bin.
(Repeat Chorus)
(Bridge)
I tried to build myself anew,
to glue the pieces to your taste.
But all my effort’s gone to waste,
in icy glares that penetrate.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Mother fxxxing Constellation”
(Julie Morrow | The Peacock Pearl)
Wish I may, wish I might, burn the day, burn the night,
to be seen, be acclaimed, have the wish, hold it tight,
not outcast, not betrayed, underwhelmed, underpaid,
be the spark, be the flame, be the fuel to ignite.
Wish I may, wish I might, be the star you desire,
not a grunt, not a cramp, but the celestial spire,
calling you out to play, dismissing holy spite,
Wish I may, wish I might, burn the day, burn the night.
(Pre-Chorus)
Burned myself trying—
I wasn’t aware.
Red giant, dying,
I have to declare…
(Chorus)
Baby you are not the star—
you are the fxxxing constellation.
You purpose light, you shine it bright,
but more than that, you’re inspiration.
You are not the star, but you’re
the mother fxxxing constellation.
The space between the stars, it looks dim, it looks tight.
Connecting glimmers in darkness, and in fright,
but from a further glance, the spaces declare the truth.
The burned out traces are filters or residue.
Wish I may, wish I might, follow them to your door.
Then, I might see the light I bear for you, evermore.
Emptiness penetrates, but it’s a guarantee
the journey’s just started to bring you back home to me.
(Pre-Chorus 2)
When we’re together
the pieces agree—
no isolation;
just you holding me.
(Repeat Chorus)
(Bridge)
I walk the lines that lead to you.
You are one point; I am one, too.
Together we are one and whole—
a constellation, bright and bold
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). The Peacock Pearl Creative Services. All Rights Reserved.
Contact: thepeacockpearl@proton.me | 504-232-3057
“Acquittal, Sublime”
(Julie Morrow)
Pabulum, she scries from me,
as voyeurs wait, unknowingly.
To be immersed within the crowd,
like seeds in dirt, like home to me.
An offering, her altar, wrecked
my candor and my openness.
The aridness, I falter—trip
up my demeanor, lethal kiss.
(Chorus)
Lying in wait to deface my love.
Fasten the gate to subdue the flood.
Offer myself in a holy rite.
Seeds in the crowd to engage the fight.
Pound out my rage in the curling vines.
Feel the ground quake in acquittal, sublime.
I bellow to the earth and to the bed
of grass that calls me home.
The comfort of the weighted mass
as clover blankets dreams of home,
dissociated from the task
I’m set to take, to howl, to moan.
The crowd, like seeds in dirt,
remind me of the place I call my own.
(Repeat Chorus)
I steel myself, she lurks in time.
I grant my rage some notes to climb,
like curlin’ vines of woodbine set
around the stage, I smell the pine.
Her consternation’s lacking depth
as I maintain the borderline
between the chains of decency,
and ardor like stale cherry wine.
(Bridge)
have you any rain?
any residue?
can I find myself
buried, encumbered, in you?
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Scrappy Soul”
(Julie Morrow)
I tore myself to pieces when
your icy gaze and callous heart
withdrew like grizzlies to their den,
as winter gales rip worlds apart.
Torn misfits from a magazine
fell to the ground in blunt array.
The scraps, like dust piled in a heap,
unkempt collage of me betrayed.
(Chorus)
My scrappy soul is torn for you.
I’d glue him back like Frankenstein.
I’d thaw the snowy banks for you.
To soothe your heart, I’d shatter mine.
The broken glass, the bottles strewn.
Forgotten promises forgone.
The tousled hair, the sullied rooms.
No recompense—just me, the fawn.
My dreams in scraps beneath your feet,
reminders of what could have been.
The wayward artist mistook me
for discards, left me for the bin.
(Repeat Chorus)
(Bridge)
I tried to build myself anew,
to glue the pieces to your taste.
But all my effort’s gone to waste,
in icy glares that penetrate.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Mother fxxxing Constellation”
(Julie Morrow | The Peacock Pearl)
Wish I may, wish I might, burn the day, burn the night,
to be seen, be acclaimed, have the wish, hold it tight,
not outcast, not betrayed, underwhelmed, underpaid,
be the spark, be the flame, be the fuel to ignite.
Wish I may, wish I might, be the star you desire,
not a grunt, not a cramp, but the celestial spire,
calling you out to play, dismissing holy spite,
Wish I may, wish I might, burn the day, burn the night.
(Pre-Chorus)
Burned myself trying—
I wasn’t aware.
Red giant, dying,
I have to declare…
(Chorus)
Baby you are not the star—
you are the fxxxing constellation.
You purpose light, you shine it bright,
but more than that, you’re inspiration.
You are not the star, but you’re
the mother fxxxing constellation.
The space between the stars, it looks dim, it looks tight.
Connecting glimmers in darkness, and in fright,
but from a further glance, the spaces declare the truth.
The burned out traces are filters or residue.
Wish I may, wish I might, follow them to your door.
Then, I might see the light I bear for you, evermore.
Emptiness penetrates, but it’s a guarantee
the journey’s just started to bring you back home to me.
(Pre-Chorus 2)
When we’re together
the pieces agree—
no isolation;
just you holding me.
(Repeat Chorus)
(Bridge)
I walk the lines that lead to you.
You are one point; I am one, too.
Together we are one and whole—
a constellation, bright and bold
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). The Peacock Pearl Creative Services. All Rights Reserved.
Contact: thepeacockpearl@proton.me | 504-232-3057
“Ravenous”
(Julie Morrow)
Babe, you’re sendin’ out a flare—
I’m tunin’ in; I’m well aware.
You’re the beacon in the night.
I stand guard, but you excite
something primal, something raw.
It’s like I can’t retract my claws.
I want to sink them in your skin.
I want to carve a path within.
(Chorus)
I’m ravenous for you.
Your cavern is for me.
Explore the uncharted.
Geodesic flesh, relieved.
Babe, your scent is in the air—
intoxicating, and it snares
me in a culvert, in a cage.
I don’t mind—I’ll take the bait.
Lay me on the forest floor.
Have your way with me, implore.
Take the meat, take the flesh.
I’ll hunker down, I’m not a threat.
(Bridge)
I surrender. Pin me down.
I’m your captive. I am bound.
Hungry, hastened in your gaze.
Take all of me, for all your days.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2026 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Ghost of Tyranny”
(Julie Morrow)
Where have you been? Where are you, now?
You work and you pay; you comply and avow.
Perfunctory speech in a cage—on a screen,
adhere to the morals to which you’ve been preened.
Gather your courage; perform your outrage,
without realizing you’ve taken their bait.
Get off your phone, touch some grass, go outside,
reconnect, reassess what is real and contrived.
(Chorus)
Curating consciousness, polishing screens.
Brains prone to melting, like tepid ice cream.
They program desire and dampen the mind,
while tightening leashes and fastening binds.
They work in the shadows, they creep like the ghost
of tyranny dressed up in judicial robes.
Find a face, find a friend, look it square in the eyes.
See the pain, feel the skin, the external disguise.
Does it look like yourself—does it look like a foe?
Does it warrant belligerent fugue from a throat
that is gagging on lies just to climb to the top
of a mountain of shit that they market for stock?
Is it worth all the anger, or worth all the rage
when you’re setting the bricks on your own goddamned cage?!
(Bridge)
Take a breath, close your eyes.
Look around, realize.
You are bound, you are tied
to a stake they contrived.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2026 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Fucks That Stick”
(Julie Morrow)
I wish you were my baby.
Then, no one would fuck with you.
I wish you were, but now, you’re not,
I’ll gain your trust, I’ll prove
you are not the doormat,
or lookin’ glass, revealing flaws
to ruthless autocrats.
You are a force, a flame with charge.
(Pre-Chorus)
Cross placid pools of decency,
toss slurs like rocks, but they’ll never subdue.
Babe, I’m the flint to your kindlin,’ stay
right by my side, there’s no fuckin’ with you.
(Chorus)
Interrupting gelid foes—
the arrows aimed to indispose.
I’ll hold the fort, I’ll man the line
to guard your fire, build a shrine.
They’ll never fuck with you again,
my love, that shit will hit the fan.
You’re gonna be my baby,
the quiet one, in camouflage.
I’ll scatter those betrayin'—
the ruffians’ grandiose mirage.
You don’t have to shield yourself
from scornful bastards thrustin’ fucks.
I’ll flip the switch, revere the sparks,
excite your flame, reverse their luck.
(Repeat Pre-Chorus)
(Repeat Chorus)
You are a gem, a pearl, a prize.
You are sincere, I recognize,
but there’s defiance in your eyes,
repel their fucks and galvanize.
Darlin’ you’re my baby,
No one’s gonna fuck with you.
I’ll fan what they’ve abated,
you’ll be that bitch that scoffs and rues.
(Bridge)
Fuck all the bastards.
Indignant, ingrates.
Stand in your power.
I’ll stand in their way.
(Repeat Pre-Chorus)
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Leap, Love”
(Julie Morrow)
One man broke your wings.
Then he pulled you down.
Bought you pretty things,
all while scratchin’ your crown.
Then he strapped you in
to a gilded cage
just to play pretend
all while brandishing rage.
(Chorus)
Leap, love. I’m right
beneath, love. You won’t
hit the ground. My love’s
holdin’ it down.
One man told you lies—
tried to harness you,
could not see the prize.
Now you’re battered and bruised.
He betrayed your heart.
Then he flayed your soul—
took your mind apart.
Still, you’re breakin’ the mold.
(Repeat Chorus)
You survived the worst;
now you’re standin’ tall.
Their misuse subverts,
as you straighten with gall.
I see you defy
them with wings unfurled,
and I hasten by,
undercurrents a whirl.
(Bridge)
I am here with you, upholding the space,
under your wings, shieldin’ you from the brace.
I’ll recover your fragments, still aglow.
Fall, I will catch you. I’ll soften the blow.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“I’ve Been Too Much”
(Julie Morrow)
Some candles burn too bright,
too fast—consume their wicks.
I have borne the brunt
of far too many sticks.
Wet kindlin’ that cracks;
damp wood that will not lick—
rebuffing all the warmth
I generate and try to give.
(Chorus)
I’ve been too much.
I’ve been not enough.
I’ve been boiled down and spread around,
found lacking, run amok.
I’ve been too much.
I’ve been not enough.
When verdant grass consumes
the barren fields with green,
the winter has been groomed
to birth the magic of the spring.
A hostile climate drills.
It will not bear the seeds
my berth is not their swill;
I am here to sire reeds.
(Bridge)
I don’t wanna be too much,
burn too bright, or crush the wick.
I wanna be the light
that makes you shine
that makes you warm—
invites you in.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2026 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Acquittal, Sublime”
(Julie Morrow)
Pabulum, she scries from me,
as voyeurs wait, unknowingly.
To be immersed within the crowd,
like seeds in dirt, like home to me.
An offering, her altar, wrecked
my candor and my openness.
The aridness, I falter—trip
up my demeanor, lethal kiss.
(Chorus)
Lying in wait to deface my love.
Fasten the gate to subdue the flood.
Offer myself in a holy rite.
Seeds in the crowd to engage the fight.
Pound out my rage in the curling vines.
Feel the ground quake in acquittal, sublime.
I bellow to the earth and to the bed
of grass that calls me home.
The comfort of the weighted mass
as clover blankets dreams of home,
dissociated from the task
I’m set to take, to howl, to moan.
The crowd, like seeds in dirt,
remind me of the place I call my own.
(Repeat Chorus)
I steel myself, she lurks in time.
I grant my rage some notes to climb,
like curlin’ vines of woodbine set
around the stage, I smell the pine.
Her consternation’s lacking depth
as I maintain the borderline
between the chains of decency,
and ardor like stale cherry wine.
(Bridge)
have you any rain?
any residue?
can I find myself
buried, encumbered, in you?
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Scrappy Soul”
(Julie Morrow)
I tore myself to pieces when
your icy gaze and callous heart
withdrew like grizzlies to their den,
as winter gales rip worlds apart.
Torn misfits from a magazine
fell to the ground in blunt array.
The scraps, like dust piled in a heap,
unkempt collage of me betrayed.
(Chorus)
My scrappy soul is torn for you.
I’d glue him back like Frankenstein.
I’d thaw the snowy banks for you.
To soothe your heart, I’d shatter mine.
The broken glass, the bottles strewn.
Forgotten promises forgone.
The tousled hair, the sullied rooms.
No recompense—just me, the fawn.
My dreams in scraps beneath your feet,
reminders of what could have been.
The wayward artist mistook me
for discards, left me for the bin.
(Repeat Chorus)
(Bridge)
I tried to build myself anew,
to glue the pieces to your taste.
But all my effort’s gone to waste,
in icy glares that penetrate.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Mother fxxxing Constellation”
(Julie Morrow | The Peacock Pearl)
Wish I may, wish I might, burn the day, burn the night,
to be seen, be acclaimed, have the wish, hold it tight,
not outcast, not betrayed, underwhelmed, underpaid,
be the spark, be the flame, be the fuel to ignite.
Wish I may, wish I might, be the star you desire,
not a grunt, not a cramp, but the celestial spire,
calling you out to play, dismissing holy spite,
Wish I may, wish I might, burn the day, burn the night.
(Pre-Chorus)
Burned myself trying—
I wasn’t aware.
Red giant, dying,
I have to declare…
(Chorus)
Baby you are not the star—
you are the fxxxing constellation.
You purpose light, you shine it bright,
but more than that, you’re inspiration.
You are not the star, but you’re
the mother fxxxing constellation.
The space between the stars, it looks dim, it looks tight.
Connecting glimmers in darkness, and in fright,
but from a further glance, the spaces declare the truth.
The burned out traces are filters or residue.
Wish I may, wish I might, follow them to your door.
Then, I might see the light I bear for you, evermore.
Emptiness penetrates, but it’s a guarantee
the journey’s just started to bring you back home to me.
(Pre-Chorus 2)
When we’re together
the pieces agree—
no isolation;
just you holding me.
(Repeat Chorus)
(Bridge)
I walk the lines that lead to you.
You are one point; I am one, too.
Together we are one and whole—
a constellation, bright and bold
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). The Peacock Pearl Creative Services. All Rights Reserved.
Contact: thepeacockpearl@proton.me | 504-232-3057
“Ravenous”
(Julie Morrow)
Babe, you’re sendin’ out a flare—
I’m tunin’ in; I’m well aware.
You’re the beacon in the night.
I stand guard, but you excite
something primal, something raw.
It’s like I can’t retract my claws.
I want to sink them in your skin.
I want to carve a path within.
(Chorus)
I’m ravenous for you.
Your cavern is for me.
Explore the uncharted.
Geodesic flesh, relieved.
Babe, your scent is in the air—
intoxicating, and it snares
me in a culvert, in a cage.
I don’t mind—I’ll take the bait.
Lay me on the forest floor.
Have your way with me, implore.
Take the meat, take the flesh.
I’ll hunker down, I’m not a threat.
(Bridge)
I surrender. Pin me down.
I’m your captive. I am bound.
Hungry, hastened in your gaze.
Take all of me, for all your days.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2026 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Ghost of Tyranny”
(Julie Morrow)
Where have you been? Where are you, now?
You work and you pay; you comply and avow.
Perfunctory speech in a cage—on a screen,
adhere to the morals to which you’ve been preened.
Gather your courage; perform your outrage,
without realizing you’ve taken their bait.
Get off your phone, touch some grass, go outside,
reconnect, reassess what is real and contrived.
(Chorus)
Curating consciousness, polishing screens.
Brains prone to melting, like tepid ice cream.
They program desire and dampen the mind,
while tightening leashes and fastening binds.
They work in the shadows, they creep like the ghost
of tyranny dressed up in judicial robes.
Find a face, find a friend, look it square in the eyes.
See the pain, feel the skin, the external disguise.
Does it look like yourself—does it look like a foe?
Does it warrant belligerent fugue from a throat
that is gagging on lies just to climb to the top
of a mountain of shit that they market for stock?
Is it worth all the anger, or worth all the rage
when you’re setting the bricks on your own goddamned cage?!
(Bridge)
Take a breath, close your eyes.
Look around, realize.
You are bound, you are tied
to a stake they contrived.
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2026 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
“Fucks That Stick”
(Julie Morrow)
I wish you were my baby.
Then, no one would fuck with you.
I wish you were, but now, you’re not,
I’ll gain your trust, I’ll prove
you are not the doormat,
or lookin’ glass, revealing flaws
to ruthless autocrats.
You are a force, a flame with charge.
(Pre-Chorus)
Cross placid pools of decency,
toss slurs like rocks, but they’ll never subdue.
Babe, I’m the flint to your kindlin,’ stay
right by my side, there’s no fuckin’ with you.
(Chorus)
Interrupting gelid foes—
the arrows aimed to indispose.
I’ll hold the fort, I’ll man the line
to guard your fire, build a shrine.
They’ll never fuck with you again,
my love, that shit will hit the fan.
You’re gonna be my baby,
the quiet one, in camouflage.
I’ll scatter those betrayin'—
the ruffians’ grandiose mirage.
You don’t have to shield yourself
from scornful bastards thrustin’ fucks.
I’ll flip the switch, revere the sparks,
excite your flame, reverse their luck.
(Repeat Pre-Chorus)
(Repeat Chorus)
You are a gem, a pearl, a prize.
You are sincere, I recognize,
but there’s defiance in your eyes,
repel their fucks and galvanize.
Darlin’ you’re my baby,
No one’s gonna fuck with you.
I’ll fan what they’ve abated,
you’ll be that bitch that scoffs and rues.
(Bridge)
Fuck all the bastards.
Indignant, ingrates.
Stand in your power.
I’ll stand in their way.
(Repeat Pre-Chorus)
(Repeat Chorus)
© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.
Former English educator with a background in Literature, specializing in narrative-driven, evocative lyrics. I am currently liquidating my catalog of 60+ original works. I am only seeking full buyouts (Copyright Exchange)—no royalties or ongoing credits required. Ideal for producers and composers looking for high-quality, "gothic-leaning" or dark-pop storytelling with zero administrative overhead.
Independent Content Creator & IP Manager | 2025 – Present
Spearheaded the rapid development and cataloging of a 65-work original songwriting portfolio.
Managed the end-to-end legal lifecycle of creative assets, including Federal Copyright registration and Performance Rights Organization (BMI) affiliation.
Developed a systematic archiving process for lyrics and compositions to ensure audit-ready documentation and intellectual property protection.
