Formula Indie Sessions _ Interview with Fallenium

1.       What is your earliest memory connected to music?

Honestly, my earliest memory of music isn’t one single moment — it’s more a feeling, like music was always just… there. As far back as I can remember, it’s been a natural part of my life, almost like a language I grew up speaking without realizing it.

My mother sent me to a classical music school when I was very young, where I learned the violin. That instrument still has a special place in my heart. I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite — I don’t really believe in favorites when it comes to instruments — but the violin often finds its way into my songs like Humain enfin, French My French Friend, Toxic (The Other Toxic Song), Older, Ganymede (Amore Mio), etc… It seems to appear naturally, without me forcing it. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

I wrote my first song when I was seven, but even before that, my listening habits were a bit… unusual for a kid. I loved Tchaikovsky, completely and deeply. At the same time, I was listening to artists like Vaya Con Dios, ABBA, and a Flemish singer called Isabella A. I was drawn to emotion, melody, and storytelling rather than “children’s music” as such.

There’s also a story my father loves to tell. I don’t remember it myself, but apparently the very first single he ever bought for me was Step by Step by New Kids on the Block. He says I was obsessed with it as a baby. And honestly, when you listen to that song now, it makes perfect sense — there’s that very prominent violin line. The puzzle kind of clicks into place.

My dad also says that whenever I was crying as a baby, they would put that song on, and I’d instantly calm down and smile. I still have that single on vinyl today. Whether or not I remember it consciously, I like the idea that music was already comforting me before I even knew what it was.

So if I really have to answer the question: my earliest memory of music isn’t a memory I can point to — it’s the sense that music has always been there, quietly shaping who I am.

2.       How did your passion for creating music begin?

I don’t think my passion for creating music began at a specific moment — it feels like something that was always there.

I wrote my first song when I was seven. I still remember it very clearly. It was called “Luchtballon,” which means Air Balloon in Dutch. Writing felt completely natural to me, not just in music, but in general. I was always writing poems, short stories, little thoughts. Language fascinated me. That’s why Latin became my favorite subject in high school —because it opened the door to poetry, rhythm, and meaning. It taught me how words can carry history, emotion, and layers at the same time. I was lucky to have a wonderful Latin teacher too, Mr. Wijnants. He introduced us to the myth of Jupiter and Ganymede—a queer love story in which Jupiter, king of the gods, falls for the beautiful Trojan prince Ganymede and carries him to Olympus to be his beloved cupbearer.

That story stayed with me, and later became my song “Ganymede (Amore Mio)”.

So it’s hard to point to one trigger. I think it’s simply a form of creativity that lives inside me. Some people find that feeling in sports, or painting, or building things. For me, it’s writing and music. I lean into it because it genuinely makes me happy.

That idea is also at the heart of why I called my first album Immortals Who Die. We all arrive in this world without a manual. We spend our lives searching, learning, questioning, growing — and we never really find all the answers. But the journey itself is the goal. The mistakes, the lessons, the empathy we develop along the way — that’s what shapes us.

When we capture that journey through art — a song, a poem, a painting — it becomes a kind of quiet legacy. We may be mortal, but what we create can outlive us. Not in a grand or ego-driven way, but in a human way. It’s how we pass on understanding, not by telling people what to think, but by offering perspectives, emotions, nuances, and stories.

That’s what music has always done for me. Songs can help you process grief, heartbreak, loneliness, bullying — or simply the feeling that something inside you doesn’t quite fit. And then suddenly, there’s a song that makes you feel seen. It tells you: you’re not alone, you’re not strange, you’re not broken. You’re just human throughout.

That’s where my passion for creating comes from. It’s always been there — as a need to connect, to understand, and to gently remind people, including myself, that being human is complicated… and that’s okay.

3.       What’s the story behind your current music project?

This project is really the result of growth — and of allowing myself to evolve as a human being.

I’ve always felt that one of the strangest things you can say to someone is “stay the way you are.” It’s well-intended, but if you think about it, growth is essential to being human. If we never change our minds, never question ourselves, never realize we were wrong or incomplete in our thinking, then we stop evolving. And I don’t believe that’s healthy — creatively or personally.

I’ve written hundreds of songs over the years and self-released two full albums on my own label, Purple Moon. Each album captures a very specific chapter of my life. When I listen back, it instantly transports me to who I was, what I was struggling with, and what I was learning at that moment.

My first album, Immortals Who Die, was mostly written out of grief. I was coming out of an extremely stressful period in which I was heavily bullied in a professional environment. The person bullying me was also my superior, which made it complicated and painful. That album was, in many ways, about forgiving myself — for staying too long, for not standing up sooner, for losing myself in the situation.

There’s a song on that album called “Breathtaking Day,” which is very dear to me. Musically, it sounds hopeful and uplifting, but lyrically it deals with one of the darkest moments of my life. I was suicidal back then I my thoughts were extremely dark. Turning something that heavy into something beautiful was incredibly healing. That song reminds me that strength doesn’t mean never falling — it means learning to be gentle with yourself when you do.

The second album moved into a different emotional space — more rage, more fire. Songs like “Don’t Be a Man About It” confront misogyny and inequality, not to attack people, but to ask questions. A lot of injustice is so deeply embedded in our language and habits that we don’t even notice it anymore. That album reflects my anger, but also my refusal to stay silent.

The project I’m working on now — my third English-language album — shifts again. This time, the focus is identity. I’ve already released several songs from it, and they explore themes like sexuality, gender, boundaries, and self-definition.

“Teach Me What Teachers Don’t Teach at School” is a song about BDSM and about learning your own limits and sexual desires. “Friends of Dorothy” looks at same-sex attraction in a broad, inclusive way. “Breathe Me” is a double-coded title—breathe me as a euphemism for breed me. It’s a dark Halloween song about a hookup with a stranger in a park, where desire turns unsettling and the encounter slowly goes wrong. “Lucky Number 13” touches on my transgender identity and the feeling of not fitting into the boxes society insists on using.

What fascinates me is how much of our world still revolves around categorizing people based on appearance or anatomy. As long as we reduce people to labels or bodies, inequality survives. I don’t write these songs to give answers — I write them to ask questions. To invite reflection. To open conversations.

That’s also where my French work comes in. Songs like “Entre mes jambs…” explore the idea of attraction and identity from a more philosophical angle. How much of what we call “preference” is cultural? How much is habit? How much is fear? And where’s the line between physical attraction and fetish? These aren’t accusations — they’re curiosities.

So the story behind my current project is simple, really:

each album is a chapter of growth.

I don’t want to stay the same.

I want to understand more — about myself, about others, about the world — and invite listeners to explore those questions alongside me.

That, to me, is what music is for.

4.       How would you describe your sound to someone who has never heard your music

before?

At heart, I’d say my music is pop.

But I’m influenced by a lot of genres. I grew up with classical music, I go through phases where I’m obsessed with rock, rap, musical theatre, Swedish schlager — and sometimes all of that in the same year. I don’t see genres as boxes, more as colors on a palette. Depending on the period I’m in, different shades come forward.

But when everything settles, what I write are pop songs.

On my first album, Immortals Who Die, the pop leans more toward folk.

On the second album, I’m Not He, you hear stronger country influences.

And with the third album — four songs are already out — the sound shifts again. There’s much more theatricality, storytelling, even a musical-like quality. Songs like “Friends of Dorothy” or “Breathe Me” could easily live on a stage. I’ve been very inspired by musical theatre and that sense of drama and narrative.

What ties it all together is storytelling. No matter the genre, the song always has to tell a story and carry emotion.

In the booklets of my albums, I always thank the artists who inspired me during that specific period. I actually keep track of what I’m listening to while writing, because it really shapes the sound. And interestingly, there are two names that always come back.

The first is Sufjan Stevens. For me, he’s the emotional and musical foundation. Everything I write, in some way, starts there — in vulnerability, detail, and honesty.

And the second… are the Spice Girls.

That might surprise people, but I genuinely admire them. Basically because they understood something incredibly powerful: how to turn personality, storytelling, friendship, and belief into something massive. They used every part of who they were and created something joyful, bold, and empowering.

For me, that’s inspiring. It sends a very important message: you don’t need to sound like Adele, Mariah Carey, or Whitney Houston to make meaningful music. Talent helps, of course — but commitment, work ethic, vision, and heart matter just as much. Maybe even more.

So when I’m writing, I often catch myself thinking: what would a Spice Girl do?

And somehow, between Sufjan Stevens and the Spice Girls, my sound finds its place.

That’s probably the most honest way I can describe it.

5.       What is one thing you’ve learned that completely changed the way you make music?

One of the most important things I’ve learned is that there isn’t one single way to make music — and that evolving isn’t a flaw, it’s the whole point.

I’m deeply influenced by many genres, and my music tends to reflect the stage of life I’m in. My first album Immortals Who Die leans more toward folk-inspired pop, my second album I’m Not He has a stronger country influence, and my current work feels much more musical and cinematic. None of those shifts were planned — they simply happened because I changed as a person.

What truly changed the way I make music is realizing that good art doesn’t come from having all the answers, but from staying curious. I don’t see myself as someone who “knows,” but as someone who keeps searching — for new sounds, new stories, and new ways to translate emotion into something honest and meaningful. That openness is where depth comes from.

But maybe the biggest lesson isn’t even about technique or genre. It’s about courage.

I know so many incredibly talented producers and songwriters who never release anything because they’re waiting for perfection or permission. And that’s such a loss. When I listen back to songs I wrote five or six years ago, I can hear how much I’ve grown — but those early songs mattered. At the time, they were the most truthful thing I could make. If I hadn’t released them, I wouldn’t be where I am now.

Of course there’s judgment. Of course there’s criticism — sometimes even hate. But that’s part of putting something real into the world. Haters gonna hate. And that’s on them. Don’t waste your time trying to fit in or explaining yourself to people whose only mission is to misinterpret you. What only matters is being kind to yourself, trusting where you are now, and allowing yourself to learn publicly.

So if there’s one thing that truly changed the way I make music, it’s this: just create, just do, and dare to release. Learn from what doesn’t work, try again, and keep going. That’s how you grow — not only as an artist, but as a human being. And honestly, that journey is the most beautiful part of it all.

6.       What tools, instruments, or software are essential in your creative process?

Most of my songs start very simply: with a guitar. That’s usually where everything begins for me. Many of my demos are still just voice and guitar.

From there, I love to add what I jokingly call a “musical guest appearance” — one instrument that steps into the song and gives it an extra layer of character or emotion. Very often, that guest is a violin. I’m deeply drawn to its warmth and vulnerability, but it could just as easily be a piano, or something more unexpected.

On my second album, I’m Not He, that role was often taken by the saxophone. I love the sound — it’s expressive, human, and undeniably sensual. There’s also something meaningful about it for me personally: the saxophone was invented by a Belgian, so it subtly connects back to my roots. On tracks like Are You Ready For This?!, it became an essential part of the song’s identity.

For Hardcore, for example, I consciously chose the saxophone because I wanted the track to feel intimate, warm, and deeply physical — not in an aggressive way, but in a loving, safe, connected way. Fun detail: the song is exactly 5 minutes and 41 seconds long, very intentionally. I once came across a study suggesting that this is the average time for people to get to an orgasm during sex and I loved the idea of translating that into music. It felt playful and very much in line with how I see music: as something that lives alongside real life.

From a technical point of view, I mainly work in Logic Pro, which gives me the flexibility to move from raw acoustic ideas to more layered, cinematic productions. But ultimately, tools are just tools. What matters most to me is that every sound — whether it’s a guitar, a violin, or a saxophone — serves the emotion and the story of the song.

If the feeling is right, the rest tends to follow naturally.

7.       Which indie artist or song are you loving right now?

That’s always a difficult question, because what I’m loving at a given moment can change quickly. That said, when it comes to indie artists, though, there are many — and a few immediately come to mind.

One of them is Lady Blaxx. She’s a Belgian artist, and her work is completely different from what I do with Fallenium, which I actually love. Whenever I have a bad day or need a boost of positivity, I find myself on her Instagram page. Her energy is infectious, and her songs feel powerful, grounded, and uplifting. She was also a real influence while I was working on my second album, I’m Not He, especially on the more rock-driven tracks like Don’t Be A Man About It and 1, 2, 3, 4.

I’m also deeply inspired by artists like JORDY, John Duff, and Jamie Hannah. Jamie, in particular, is someone I admire enormously as a singer. The way he turns lyrics into music feels almost effortless, yet incredibly intelligent and emotional. I honestly believe that you could hand him the most unlikely or rough set of words, and he’d transform them into something moving and meaningful. That kind of singing alchemy is rare — and very inspiring.

What all these artists have in common is that they tell the truth in their own way. They remind me that there’s no single path to making meaningful music — just honesty, curiosity, and the courage to express yourself.

8.       How have your personal experiences influenced your music and artistic vision?

My personal experiences and my music are almost inseparable. Almost everything I write is rooted in something I’ve lived, felt, or questioned. Music is how I process the world — and how I make sense of myself within it.

My first album, Immortals Who Die, was born out of grief in many forms. It carries the pain of heartbreak, like in How Long Does It Take For A Tear To Dry?, So Sorry, or Hear the Drops, which came from the first time I truly had my heart broken — that moment when someone you love tells you they’ve outgrown you. Not The Girl (I Wish I Could Be), Butterfly, and Rebels With A Cause on the other hand reflects the quieter, deeper pain of being queer in a world that doesn’t always know how to respond to difference. Not because queerness itself is painful — but because of how society reacts to it. The judgment, the labels, the assumptions about how you speak, move, or simply exist. That kind of pressure leaves marks.

For me, writing music is a way of dealing with trauma and turning it into something meaningful. I’ve written about toxic work environments, about bullying, about moments where I felt diminished — not to stay stuck in them, but to find closure. Putting those experiences into words allows me to step outside them and grow.

That said, not everything comes from darkness. Songs like Hi Robin My Robin and especially I’ve Made Love to the Sea — and its French version Je fais l’amour à la mer — deals with losing my virginity and celebrates tenderness, discovery, and connection with nature. They’re about intimacy, vulnerability, and the beauty of feeling alive. Those moments matter just as much.

Many of my songs live in that in-between space. Lucky Number 13, for example, sounds upbeat and playful on the surface, but underneath it explores the struggle of staying authentic in a world that doesn’t always make room for you. How much of yourself do you show? When do you adapt? And how do you do that without losing who you are? I often add playful elements — like hidden references or cultural Easter eggs — not to distract from the message, but to invite people in gently.

The same goes for songs like Toxic (The Other Toxic Song). There’s a catchy line people love: The only toxic I need, is Toxic by Britney Spears, but beneath it, the song is actually about self-reflection — about recognizing toxic patterns in myself and wanting to do better. Writing it was a way of holding up a mirror, not pointing fingers.

Every song I release as Fallenium is deeply personal. Even when the themes are philosophical — like in Entre mes jambs…, which questions society’s obsession with labels, gender, and what people think they need to know about each other — the starting point is always lived experience. Curiosity, confusion, frustration, empathy. All of it finds its way into the music.

In the end, my artistic vision is simple: to turn personal truth into something shared. If a song helps me understand myself a little better — and helps someone else feel less alone — then it’s done what it needed to do.

9.       What emotions or messages do you hope listeners take from your work?

First of all, I’m already grateful when someone simply listens. Truly. Music is how I process life, how I deal with things, how I make sense of what I’m feeling. If someone chooses to spend time with it, that already means a lot.

I don’t expect listeners to fully understand my songs, or even to relate to every detail. But I do believe that none of us are alone in what we feel. Grief, loneliness, anger, love, joy, desire, attraction, doubt — these are universal experiences. So if a song resonates with someone, even in a small way, that’s enough. Sometimes it’s about feeling seen, sometimes about not feeling alone, sometimes it’s just a thought that lingers a little longer than expected.

What I hope most is that my music creates space — for compassion, for curiosity, and occasionally for questioning. We often live by ideas and norms we’ve inherited without really examining them, especially when it comes to gender, sexuality, identity, and the roles we’re expected to play. If my music gently invites someone to pause and ask themselves why they feel a certain discomfort or resistance, then I feel I’ve done something meaningful.

I can’t remember who it was, but once I heard an artist say, “If I make people a little uncomfortable, I’ve done my job.” I relate to that — not because I want to shock or provoke for the sake of it, but because growth often starts with discomfort. Like my song Rebels With A Cause suggests: being a rebel only matters if there’s intention behind it.

Something as simple as asking, Why would a man feel uncomfortable wearing a skirt to work? can already open a whole conversation. It’s just clothing — yet it carries so much meaning and vulnerability. I’ve felt that myself, walking in high heels publically: it don’t always fit neatly into expectations, sensing people’s unease. And I think those moments are invitations, not accusations — invitations to look inward and reflect.

So if listeners take anything from my work, I hope it’s permission: permission to feel, to question, to be honest with themselves — and maybe, just maybe, to be a little kinder to themselves and others along the way.

10.   What’s the most important lesson music has taught you so far?

That’s a difficult question, because music has taught me many things, depending on how you look at it. But if I think about music in its broadest sense — not just making music, but listening to it — then the most important lesson it has taught me is this: to listen in order to understand, not to respond.

When I listen to someone else’s music, I’m essentially stepping into their inner world for a few minutes. Their fears, their joy, their anger, their longing — all of it is there. Music has taught me empathy. It reminds me that everyone carries a story you might never fully see from the outside.

That lesson naturally carried over into my own life. It taught me that it’s okay not to have immediate answers, opinions, or conclusions. Sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do is simply stay present and listen — to others, but also to yourself.

Music also taught me patience and humility. Growth doesn’t happen overnight. Songs, just like people, need time to evolve. Some ideas take years to make sense. And that’s okay. Not everything needs to be perfect right away to be valuable.

Ultimately, music keeps reminding me of our shared humanity. Different languages, genres, identities — underneath it all, the emotions are universal. Grief, love, confusion, hope — we all feel them. Music taught me that understanding often begins the moment you stop trying to explain everything, and simply allow yourself to feel.

And maybe that’s the most important lesson of all?!

11.   What is a dream venue or festival you would love to perform at?

As I’ve grown, I’ve learned something important about myself — something that might surprise people. I don’t actually love performing.

What I truly live for is creating music: writing, producing, shaping songs, building worlds through sound. That’s where I feel most alive and most honest. Standing on a stage, on the other hand, makes me deeply nervous. It drains me more than it gives me joy. And that’s a misconception we don’t talk about enough — that every musician must secretly dream of the spotlight. Some of us are builders rather than performers.

I often find myself asking other artists to cover my songs, and I mean that sincerely. I love hearing my music live through someone else’s voice, someone else’s body, someone else’s energy. It feels like the song gets to breathe in a different way — and that, to me, is incredibly fulfilling.

So my dream isn’t so much about a specific venue or festival. It’s about my songs finding their way into the world, connecting with people, and being carried by others. If that happens on a big stage, beautiful. If it happens quietly in a small bar, that’s just as meaningful.

12.   If you could collaborate with any artist, past or present, who would it be and why?

If I could collaborate with any artist, present or future, there wouldn’t be just one answer — but there are a few dreams that keep coming back.

I’ve always been drawn to girl groups. There’s something incredibly powerful about collective energy, shared voices, and unapologetic femininity. The Spice Girls, Girls Aloud, and Sugababes shaped a big part of my musical DNA. Writing a bold, feminist, feel-good anthem for a girl group — something full of confidence, joy, and empowerment — would honestly be a dream come true.

That said, working with idols can be tricky. Sometimes you admire someone so much that it almost feels intimidating. I can only imagine standing in a studio with someone like Geri Halliwell — I’d probably be equal parts inspired and completely overwhelmed. But that admiration also comes from deep respect for the artistry, songwriting, and cultural impact they’ve had.

On a very real and personal level, one collaboration I truly hope to return to is with Serhat. I’ve already had the privilege of writing many songs for him, and working together has been incredibly formative for me. He taught me so much about songwriting, discipline, and trusting simplicity. A large part of what I know today, I learned through that collaboration.

What makes Serhat special isn’t just his success — although he remains, in my opinion, the most successful artist San Marino has ever sent to Eurovision — it’s his presence. He has undeniable star quality, the kind that fills a room instantly, yet he remains genuinely kind, humble, and generous with his time. That combination is rare.

I would love for us to get back into the studio one day and create something new together. I’ve always said I’d love to write him another “Say Na Na Na” — something joyful, infectious, and full of life. Collaborations like that don’t just create songs; they create memories. And those are the ones that stay with you.

13.   Where can our listeners follow and support your music? (Website,Spotify, IG, links)

People can follow and support my music in whatever way feels most natural to them. Streaming is obviously the most common way people discover music today, so you can find my work on Spotify, but also on Apple Music, Deezer, YouTube, and pretty much all major platforms.

When it comes to social media, Instagram is the place where I’m most present. It feels like the most human platform to me — if you message me there, chances are I’ll read it and reply. I do have accounts on other platforms like TikTok or Facebook, but I’m honestly not very active there. Social media can be quite overwhelming for me, so I try to keep it simple and focus on what feels healthy and sustainable.

That said, I also really believe in owning music. I grew up with CDs and vinyl — music you could hold, keep, and return to years later. Streaming is convenient, but it’s also temporary. Physical records last, and they tell a story. My studio is full of CDs and vinyls that no longer exist online, and I love that sense of preservation.

For people who enjoy collecting music, my albums Immortals Who Die and I’m Not He are available on CD and vinyl via Elastic Stage (https://elasticstage.com/fallenium), including booklets with lyrics and personal stories. I create everything myself, from the music to the artwork and texts, so it’s really meant as a deeper way into my world.

And if someone prefers something more personal: they can always send me a message on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/falleniummusic/). I love to send a personal signed copy, and if you ever find yourself in Antwerp, I’m always happy to meet and hand one over in person. Connecting with listeners — sharing stories, thoughts, and experiences — is honestly one of the most meaningful parts of making music for me.

And in general: If you want to stream my music, connect on Instagram or simply buy an album on CD or vinyl, go to my linkt.ree : https://linktr.ee/falleniummusic

14.   Looking toward the future, what’s your dream for the next chapter of your musical

journey?

Right now, my main focus is finishing my third English-language album, a project I started at the beginning of 2025 and that will be released in spring or summer 2026. Several singles from that album are already out — Teach Me What Teachers Don’t Teach at School, Breathe Me, Friend of Dorothy, and Lucky Number 13 — and they really represent where I am creatively at this point in my life.

At the same time, something very natural and unexpected has been happening alongside that journey. When I released French My French Friend last summer, my first original French song, it received airplay not only in Belgium but also in Canada and France. That response showed me there’s a real audience connecting with my French work — and that means a lot to me, because I genuinely love writing in French, sometimes even more than in English.

That’s why I started releasing French versions of some fan favourites, like Je fais l’amour à la mer (I’ve Made Love to the Sea) and Humain enfin (Human Throughout). Looking ahead, I’d love to bring those together with original French tracks such as Entre mes jambs…, Ton papa, and French My French Friend into a full French album, ideally in 2026 or 2027 — depending on time, space, and whether I feel the songs are truly strong enough to belong together.

Beyond albums, my bigger long-term dream is to write a musical. I’ve already written one before, inspired by the music of the Scissor Sisters. Although that project ultimately didn’t go into production, the experience stayed with me — and so did my love for musical storytelling. One day, I’d love to create an original musical from start to finish: the story, the songs, the whole world around it — and to see it truly come to life on stage.

For now, though, my focus is very clear: finish what I started. The third English album first, then the French album — and after that, when the time feels right, I hope to return to the world of musical theatre with a project that’s ready to be produced and shared.

That’s the dream: to keep building honestly, step by step, and to let each chapter grow naturally into the next.

15.   What do you hope listeners will discover about you along the way?

I hope listeners discover that, at the core, I’m simply human throughout.

If my work leads to anything, I hope it nudges the world, even in a very small way, toward more kindness, empathy, and humanity. We don’t have to agree on everything — that would be unrealistic — but I do believe we can agree on treating one another with respect. Regardless of power, status, influence, genitals, gender, age, skin color, or visibility, everyone deserves to be treated with the same dignity.

That principle is something I try to live by, but it’s also a reminder to myself. My music isn’t about pointing fingers or telling people what they should or shouldn’t do. It’s about reflecting, questioning, and staying honest — including with myself. On difficult or stressful days, it reminds me to pause, to soften, and to be kind, especially when it would be easier not to be. The smartest person in a room, is often the kindest. And I truly believe that because they know they have nothing to prove.

If listeners discover anything about me along the way, I hope it’s that my work comes from a genuine place — a desire to understand, to connect, and to leave a little more compassion behind than I found. If that resonates, even quietly, then that already means everything to me.

16.   If you want here you can add a representative Youtube video to insert below the

interview 🙂

If you want to stream my music, connect on Instagram or simply buy an album on CD or vinyl, go to my linkt.ree : https://linktr.ee/falleniummusic

My latest song is called Lucky Number 13 :