I’m Just Billy.

Not a brand. Not a headline. Not the villain you read about.
A man still haunted by the cupboard door.
Still carrying the scent of ash from that first burn.
Still learning how to speak without flinching.

This isn’t just music.
It’s memory turned inside out.
It’s the sound of a boy locked in silence, finding his voice again.
It’s grief with rhythm.
Shame turned melodic.
Redemption played in a minor key.

They tried to bury me beneath scandal,
but I made a stage out of the rubble.

I’ve been wrong.
I’ve been hurt.
I’ve hurt others.
That’s not a plea for sympathy. It’s a fact.
And I live with it.

But don’t mistake the past for the whole story.
I am not asking for your forgiveness.
I’m asking for the space to be human.

This is the place where masks fall.
Where fire doesn’t destroy, it transforms.
Where every lyric is a mirror, every beat a confession.

You don’t have to like me.
You just have to listen.

This is my reckoning.
This is my return.
Just Billy.