Campus Life Folk Songs

Ashes & 7-Nerds (The LA Palisades Fire UCLA Drama)

The Night UCLA Nearly Burned, But Friendship Burned Brighter

▶ They said:

"UCLA never sleeps."

But that night—

Even the stars held their breath.

Seven kids.

One fire.

No homework.

Just chaos… and chicken tenders.

It started with a tweet: “Palisades lit!”

But not in the way influencers spit.

Flames rolled down like frat boy rage,

Hollywood letters turned a burning stage.

Parents panicked in SUVs,

Charging Teslas, hugging trees.

The Wi-Fi screamed, the skies turned red,

A fire drill... but unfiltered dread.

Ash fell like midterms from the sky,

Screaming, “Save the dorms or say goodbye!”

Ashes & A-Students, smoke in our lungs,

We crammed escape routes with Top Ramen tongues!

Seven nerds, one tiny space,

One dog, three games, and zero grace!

Ashes & A-Students, chaos and fries,

Chugging soda while the city cries!

From chem to calamity in a flash—

We made trauma a TikTok smash!

We made trauma a TikTok smash!

Oh! The city turned Hunger Games of love,

Each parent arrived like a panicked dove.

“Take three!” “Take five!” “Who’s allergic to wheat?”

One mom said, “No snacks? Retreat!”

A Hollywood dad saved two with flair,

Another brought charcuterie and filtered air.

One aunt took all seven in a Prius XL,

We fit like Tetris, plus that taco smell.

No lectures. No grades. No fake GPA.

Just seven sleepover souls that day.

Ashes & A-Students, sleep on the floor,

Bonding over trauma and Netflix lore.

We didn’t panic — we pitched a show,

“Disaster Dorms: Rated R for glow.”

Ashes & A-Students, fear meets fries,

We laughed so hard, it sanitized!

One kid freestyled fire alarm bars,

Another ranked smoke in Yelp star wars.

L.A. burned and so did our dread,

But memories sparked where textbooks fled.

No syllabus planned for nights like these,

But friendship’s forged in smoky breeze.

We watched the flames like stars on fire,

And promised: “We’ll build, not just admire.”

So if you ask what made us close,

It wasn’t grades, or résumé boasts.

It was one shared panic, one mad dash,

Seven souls in a fire-stained crash.

Ashes & A-Students, burnt but bold,

We made a sleepover out of gold!

From ashes we rose, with fries and flair,

And swore: next fire — bring extra underwear, underwear.

Dear Me (30 Years From Now)

The kid you silenced… just wrote back.

▶ Hey.

Yeah, eh, it's me — the glitter-stained rookie.

The one with chocolate in my backpack

and protest in my pockets.

You… turned thirty-something.

I turned legacy.

Read this out loud.

We wrote it together.

I just went first.

Yo, do you still hum the song I made at eight,

With dragons breakdancing and homework hate?

The one with beats I smuggled in socks,

While you traced futures in paradox?

Did you outrun that voice that said “Too much”?

Or tame it with taxes and keeping in touch?

Did they Photoshop your roar to calm?

Did they sell your spark in a self-help psalm?

Dear me, from the kid with glitter scars,

I built you bold beneath the stars.

Each chorus wept, each verse defied—

I sang in chaos. You survived.

If your tie feels like a leash today,

Unclip this beat and disobey.

NeuraPump’s not just dopamine spin—

It’s your younger self screaming: Begin.

They called me “loud,” I called it lungs.

They said “refocus,” I threw puns.

They fed me drills, I ate metaphors.

You filled out forms — I kicked down doors.

Do you still quote cartoons mid-debate?

Still lose your mind when haters skate?

Do you nap in suits or dream in rhyme?

Or check your heart like “battery: low, no time”?

Remember Level 42’s final boss?

That was guilt — I flossed it off.

Every game I played on “expert mode,”

Was planting roots in your download code.

I skipped your bedtime to map your rage,

Wrapped it in jokes and a lyric cage.

You want my playbook? Here’s the trick:

I didn’t aim perfect. I aimed epic.

Dear me, when you feel too much,

And life's a meeting you can't clutch,

Don’t buy silence sold as peace —

Crack the ceiling, release the beast.

You were made from chaos glitter glue,

Maverick spark and midnight true.

Don’t play the role. Be the trope.

Unfold like jokes dressed up in hope.

If your inbox ate your soul this week,

Breathe me back when the neon's weak.

I’m the kid who punched the dark—

Not with fists, but with a spark. ⚡

Raise the pen, raise the flame.

Don’t be polite — be the name.

Don’t be useful — be alive.

NeuraHooked. Verified.

So if someday, someone asks,

“Who did you write this for?”

Just say:

For the kid who never left.

He just turned the mic into a mirror.

Dear me, when you feel too much,

And life's a meeting you can't clutch!