Every song begins where comfort ends.

Not from routine, not from repetition —

but from moments that crack something open:

pressure, silence, doubt, loss, longing.

From fracture, something grows.

Pain is not decoration — it is material,

reshaping the artist,

deepening the voice beneath the voice.

The greater the weight, the wider the horizon.

These are not tasks completed,

but thresholds crossed.

Discomfort into clarity.

Confusion into sound.

Pressure into light.

Nothing accidental.

Nothing mechanical.

This is growth you can hear.

— Mark Dabo