"Gotta find some sleep, but I'm hooked on that blue, trying to window-shop a personality, but nothing seems to fit. There's a girl I kinda know, maybe she's a cannibal, maybe I'm just a flawed emotional animal. Then a silent turn, sparks fly; but the moment she replies, pillow talk and empty claims. It's all slowly killing me."
Like Oli said, the lyrics are deep—maybe even too deep. Fragmented words stitch together in a strange way, tough to follow, more like disjointed mutterings than a clear thread.
Ronan didn't want to tell a story or pen a poem to bottle up feelings. Instead, he aimed to catch fleeting moments in a few stark phrases, sketching the emotions within the melody—one grain of sand, a whole world; one flower, a paradise.
True kindred spirits would get it. Those with different values, worldviews, or takes on life wouldn't—and they don't need to. This song isn't for them.
In a way, "Kill Me Slower" is King for a Day's autobiography—
Chasing dreams, struggling over and over, never giving up, but never seeing the future either. Walking away to a normal life feels wrong, yet pushing on seems pointless. Trapped in a rut, they're just… slowly killing themselves.
"I hate dreams."
Taste that line again—also from "Kill Me Slower"—and you might catch the flicker of that conflicted vibe.
Oli didn't get Ronan's lyrics, but listening to the melody, he said "dust got in my eyes"—his excuse as he kept rubbing them.
Ronan didn't comment.
No doubt, "Kill Me Slower" is steeped in bittersweet ache. But Ronan didn't want to wallow in self-pity or drown in sadness. Like "Get Out of My Head," he sings sorrow with a bounce, despair with a grin.
From "Born This Way" to "Get Out of My Head" to "Kill Me Slower," you can trace the band's situation and Ronan's mindset.
Yeah, King for a Day's teetering on a cliff, stumbling into a dead-end dark. They spot glimmers of hope but can't grab hold. Persistence is turning into an obsession, yet Ronan never slumps. He's learned to find joy in the grind—
To him, it's all happiness, a test, an adventure.
Since waking up on that bar stage, Ronan's treasured every second of life. He's learning to embrace his own path, like the "half-glass" theory—always seeing what's left, not what's gone. Happiness and hardship go hand in hand.
That's why, even with dark lyrics like "Kill Me Slower," Ronan's melody stays light and lively. His singing style breathes new life into it.
"Bruno" picks up on that bittersweet spark in Ronan's tune—like a guy whose house is burning down but still grins for a family photo, muttering, "This is too rare not to snap a memory," and bustling around with the camera.
It's hard not to smile.
"…You mean like this?" Following the suggestion, Ronan plays it on the spot, open to feedback, exploring options.
"Yeah, exactly." After the tweak, "Bruno" nods approval, a smile tugging at his lips. "Now the emotional punch hits different. If the singer can nail those subtle shifts and really deliver the lyrics' heart, the audience will feel it for sure."
Mid-sentence, he trails off without warning.
The words cut short, like he's lost in thought. His gaze drifts, focus scattering, slipping into his own world.
Ronan's caught off guard and glances up. Then it hits him—maybe "Kill Me Slower" struck a soft spot. Could that mean this scruffy boxer isn't Bruno?
Bruno's on a rocket ride up right now, all swagger and stride. How could he relate to King for a Day's slow spiral? A washed-up boxer, though—that fits the vibe better.
What if this guy's some 36th-tier actor scraping by impersonating Bruno Mars? Then he'd share plenty with King for a Day, and feeling "Kill Me Slower" so deeply wouldn't be a stretch.
But Ronan doesn't dig into the guy's expression. He looks away—
He knows if it were him, he wouldn't want a stranger peering into his soul, let alone poking around.
"Bruno" zones out for just a beat—one or two seconds, a tiny pause—then snaps back. No awkwardness, no cover-up, like it was nothing. He picks up right where he left off.
"Arrangement-wise, what's your take?"
Solo folk guitar's too thin, too bright. It wouldn't hit the vibe Ronan's going for.
Sure, diving into pro-level stuff with a stranger he just met feels off. Plus, it's music copyright territory—if some jerk swiped the melody and arrangement, filed it first, Ronan'd be stuck eating the loss.
And he still isn't sure who this guy really is. Maybe—probably—not Bruno Mars at all. Just a random passerby or a down-on-his-luck street boxer.
But Ronan's not sweating it.
Music's for everyone to weigh in on—pro or not, deep or shallow. No need for a line in the sand. That's the beauty of modern tunes. Plus, this guy gets the real feelings tucked in the lyrics and melody. That's enough to make them kindred spirits.
Ronan's happy to open up and share music with anyone, purely for the love of it—joy, sorrow, all of it. Sharing's the right way to dig music.
What if he's wrong about this guy?
Then it's a lesson bought. Ronan's cool taking the risk.