I'm a grown man who writes songs about the beautiful, broken, ordinary mess of being alive. The music is AI-made — but every word and every story is mine.
— Nathan Beard
The Beginning
It started with a kid on his grandmother's patio.
I was strumming a guitar in a Hawaiian shirt I was absolutely certain made me look cool.
(It did not.)
Shortly after that photo, we moved. Then again. And again — almost every year.
I didn't touch a guitar again until my 40s.
But the words never stopped.
They filled notebooks. Margins. The middle of the night.
I write about what I know — my failures, the people who loved me anyway, the faith that caught me when I couldn't catch myself, and the quiet moments most people walk past.
Apple pie minds. Overtime angels. Leftovers turned into a life.
These songs are the result.
Grandma's patio — where we were temporarily living when my grandfather passed.
The Hawaiian shirt. The guitar. The moment music found me.
Trying to play bass in Uncle Chris' band. Emphasis on "trying."
The man who inspired me to write my thoughts
The First Time Someone Noticed
Around the time that patio photo was taken, a teacher placed me in the school's gifted program (EEE).
Not because of test scores.
Because of stories I wrote.
One I remember was about a boy riding his bike when a raindrop landed on his arm. Not an ordinary raindrop — this one could talk. It had been watching from above. The boy and the raindrop became friends and relied on each other for their existence.
My teacher said I looked at things differently.
She thought that might be a gift.
Years later I overheard teachers debating whether I belonged in that class.
I stayed.
The doubt stayed too.
That feeling followed me into almost everything I tried.
What I didn't understand then is that pain teaches you to notice things. To relate. To love differently.
I never learned how to say the hard stuff out loud.
So I wrote it instead.
The Guitar
I've only been playing guitar for about a year.
Music is humbling.
I'm a student of this, not a master — and I'm okay with that.
My goal is personal and honest: to reach a place where I can sit down with my family, play one of these songs, and actually sing it — just us, in a room, with no backing track required.
Somewhere further down the road, I'd love to play with a band. That day is a long way off. But it's there — a quiet pull on the horizon.
For now, the work is the point. Keep playing. Keep writing. Keep showing up.
Why This Exists
To hear someone who can really sing and play perform one of these songs someday. If that's you, please reach out. I'll probably cry.
To sit down with my family and play and sing one of these songs — just us, no backing track. And someday, maybe, a stage with a band.
These lyrics say what I never could out loud. As the catalog grows, it becomes a portrait — who I was, who I am, and who I hope to be. Something my kids and grandkids can hold onto long after I'm gone.
I'm a nerd and building this website sounded fun. Not everything has to be profound.
Transparency
How these songs are made, and what's mine.
You deserve to know this upfront.
The production is AI. The lyrics, direction, and story are mine.
Every song on this site begins the same way it always has for me — with words.
For years I filled notebooks with lyrics about my life, my family, my faith, and the things I've lived through. The problem wasn't the writing.
The problem was turning those words into music.
I'm not a studio musician. I don't play every instrument. And I never had the resources to hire a band, producers, and engineers to bring these songs to life.
AI became the instrument that finally made that possible.
But it isn't writing the songs.
Anyone can type a prompt and generate a polished track in seconds. That's not what you're hearing here.
Every song starts with lyrics I wrote myself. From there, I shape the music the same way a producer would in a studio:
More fiddle. Less fiddle. Faster tempo. Pull the bass out in the bridge. Add vocal grit. Strip it down here. Let the chorus breathe.
Sometimes it takes dozens — even hundreds — of iterations before the sound matches what I hear in my head.
The AI is generating the performance.
I'm directing the production.
If you think about it, music has always evolved alongside new tools. Electric guitars, synthesizers, drum machines, digital recording, and autotune were all controversial when they first appeared. Today they're just part of how music gets made.
AI is simply the newest instrument.
Before I produced AI versions, a handful of these songs were recorded the old-fashioned way — with my Uncle Chris and his band, in a makeshift studio we set up at my house. Those sessions were genuinely fun. But the recordings were rough, and I still have a lot to learn about how to capture sound the right way.
The AI versions exist as demos: a way of saying, here's what this song could sound like. The lyrics are where the meaning lives.
What matters to me — and what I hope matters to you — is the songwriting.
These lyrics come from real moments in my life: my wife, my kids, my failures, my faith, and the things I've learned along the way.
If you're a musician, I hope you'll listen for the writing.
If you're skeptical about AI, I understand that too. New tools always bring debate.
But if you've ever had something inside you that needed a voice — and finally found a way to express it — then you probably understand exactly what this is.
The People Behind the Songs
The people on this page didn't ask to be written about. But loving them, losing them, learning from them, and being shaped by them gave me something I couldn't keep inside.
Overrun by the Grace Train
I didn't grow up in church. Not even close. I didn't have a problem with God — I just never thought about Him much. I was busy building, chasing, proving. I thought I was driving.
Turns out, I was a passenger.
In 2023, one of our daughter's Air Force Academy classmates needed a place to recover after surgery. We said yes. When we asked what she needed, she had one request: help her find a church.
We had never gone. But we went with her.
That first sermon felt personal — not in a general way, but in a someone's been reading my journal way. I cried. I left with my eyes and heart open in a way they'd never been before.
Looking back, I can see it now. God had been there the whole time — in the doors that opened, the people who showed up, the pain I thought I carried alone. I had been living in a house full of empty rooms. He just filled them.
My pride was my quiet addiction. I wore self-sufficiency like armor. It took decades to realize the armor was a cage.
The songs about grace — about green lights where I expected dead ends — those are the truest things I've ever written.
And the wild part?
I don't think I found God.
I think He finally got me to stop running long enough to notice He'd never left.
The One My Soul Was Made For
We met my senior year of college. One glance at that Ohio girl with Disney eyes and time stopped. I forgot everything else.
Ashlee calls our life the Beard Rollercoaster. That's mostly my fault. I don't like to slow down and I'm a serial hobbyist chasing the next thrill — fishing, climbing, diving, concerts, or just getting lost in another country. She's the one who holds on through every loop and somehow still loves every minute of it.
We both grew up poor — not the romantic kind. Goodwill closets. Shoes that outlasted seasons. We didn't have much, so we poured everything into our kids. We never paid for a babysitter. Not because we were noble. Because we couldn't afford both.
I make up for that now. I celebrate her out loud. Because the best gift I can give my kids is a father who adores their mother where they can see it.
She says "I'm sorry" when she could win. She dances in the kitchen. She carries strength quietly. When I bend under my own mistakes, she doesn't flinch.
She doesn't love the spotlight. She doesn't need credit. But she is the steady heartbeat under every song I've written — even the ones that aren't about her.
She's still my favorite place to be.
She always was.
The Reason for Everything
Everything we built, we built for them. Every overtime shift. Every Goodwill run. Every night we stayed in.
It wasn't a sacrifice.
It was the plan.
Olivia was six when she leaned by the Christmas lights and said, "Mama, whisper what you want — I'll put it on my list so Santa hears." She didn't care if it meant less for her.
That's who she is.
That was back when Ashlee and I couldn't afford to get each other presents. Braxton came into this world steady — the quiet kind of strong. Took a punch for a friend. Paid off his own wrecked car at sixteen. Doesn't chase attention. Just does what's right. He was born the man I wish I was.
That's who he is.
Now both kids stand in blues, steady and strong, chasing the sky. Watching your child outpace every dream you had for them? I still don't have the words.
They didn't just inspire songs.
They made me the kind of man who needed to write them.
The Roots Underneath Everything
We moved almost every year until high school. New towns. New schools. New faces to learn and new rooms to read.
When you're the new kid that often, you develop instincts. You learn how to connect quickly. How to stand your ground. How to adapt.
And how to start over.
But what never changed — what never moved — was home.
My mom had me just before her twentieth birthday. My dad wasn't yet twenty-four. They were young, but they were determined. Two people with high school diplomas, relentless work ethic, big dreams, and even bigger love.
My mom is the kind of woman people call an angel — and I'm the one who gets to call her Mom. She laid down opportunities and comforts without hesitation so we could have stability. She made sacrifice look ordinary and love look effortless. She gave us security long before we understood what it cost her.
My dad dreams out loud. He sees possibility where others see limits. He's always believed life could be bigger, better, fuller — and he carried that belief into our home. And as I've grown, I've come to appreciate not just his strength, but the depth behind it — the care, the hope, the love that fueled everything he did.
They didn't give us a perfect life. They gave us a real one. One built on grit, laughter, hard lessons, and stubborn commitment.
After their marriage ended, life changed. Transitions bring distance sometimes — but they also bring perspective. What I carry forward isn't resentment. It's gratitude for what each of them poured into me during the years that mattered most. The work ethic. The toughness. The belief that you keep going.
Time. Presence. Showing up. Those are the things that last.
And then there's the man who stood in a doorway the first time I picked up his daughter — six-foot-three and serious.
"Son, you're the first one I can't whip — but just know I've got a gun and I'll be around."
Then he laughed and pulled me in.
My father-in-law taught me that love protects. That strength and tenderness aren't opposites. If a young man ever comes for my daughter's hand, I'll be standing in that same doorway — smiling.
Growing up the way I did gave me two gifts that show up in every song I write:
The instinct to notice what most people miss. And the understanding that home isn't a place — it's the people who let you stop performing.
My family gave me that. Not perfectly. Not without scars.
But with more than enough love that the well never runs dry.
The One Who Heard It First
Chris spent his life making music the real way — real instruments, trained ears, decades of feel. He can hear a note that's a quarter-step off from across the room. Great voice. Songs that sound like real country because he was a real rancher.
When I nervously played him my first AI-produced song, I expected a polite nod and a subject change.
He didn't mention the production. Didn't critique the software. Didn't talk arrangement.
He heard the words.
Then he told me to stop worrying about learning guitar and spend every free minute writing. He called it a gift.
That changed everything — not because he validated me, but because he gave me permission to take myself seriously.
And Regina — his wife — has been just as steady. She plays bass and fiddle in the band and has an ear sharp enough to catch what the rest of us miss. When I sent the songs over, she didn't hesitate. She said I had a gift and that Chris was excited to help me. That kind of encouragement doesn't feel casual. It feels like someone opening a door.
We wrote "Passenger" together — our first co-write. A song about realizing you're not driving this life. You're riding in something bigger. Writing with Chris feels like music in the kitchen past midnight — stories in the chords, truth in the harmony. He pushes me to say less and mean more.
Gary, our drummer, is part of that rhythm too. Making music with Chris and me has lit something back up in him. He's playing harder, singing more, stepping forward instead of hanging back. Watching that happen reminds me that this thing isn't just about songs. It's about revival.
Playing bass in their band taught me something as well. I wasn't good. I'm still not great. But standing next to people who live and breathe music, feeling it move through you — that's when I knew this wasn't a hobby.
It was the thing I'd been circling my whole life.
Uncle Chris didn't just hear my first song.
He heard me.
And he — and the band standing with him — are the reason you're hearing me now.
The Music
Every song here started as a moment I couldn't let go of. Click a cover to read the story behind it.
Click any song to hear it, read the backstory, and see the lyrics.
More songs are written and on the way. Lyrics are pending copyright registration as Works of the Performing Arts. Every song gets released the right way.
More songs in the works… stay tuned.
All lyrics are original works protected by copyright and registered with ASCAP.
Industry & Licensing: All songs are available for licensing, sync, and collaboration. If something catches your ear, reach out.
Get in Touch
Most mornings, I wake up chasing something. The next goal. The next win. The next level. And the crazy part is — I've already lived prayers I once prayed. I've exceeded dreams that used to feel impossible… and somehow my mind still whispers, "Not enough yet."
There's a little bar near Destin, Florida we go to by boat. On the wall is a painting that says, "Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life." Every time we visit, I take a picture of it. I've probably got ten of the exact same photo in my phone. And every time I see those words, it feels like a reset.
Because this moment — not the next one — this one… is my life.
We spend so much time comparing. The older man with money wishing he had youth. The young man wishing he had security. The successful one wishing for more time. The one searching just wanting purpose. Everybody looking somewhere else for "having it all."
This song is my reminder to slow down… to open my eyes… and realize the secret to having it all is knowing you already do.
I hope when you hear it, it feels like a deep breath. Like permission to stop chasing for a second… and just be grateful for right now.
Because this moment — it's your life.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
I wrote this song in 2012 after watching Trace Adkins play at Country Jam in western Colorado.
I was just another guy in the crowd with a beer in my hand. Working hard, raising kids, trying to keep a roof over our heads. Surviving… not really dreaming.
And I remember Trace telling the crowd he never thought he'd be up there. That he didn't start out as some sure thing. He talked about the road it took to get there. And something about that hit me square in the chest.
Because "watching from the stands" isn't just about a concert. It's a metaphor for life. It's that place we stand when we're too afraid to try. Too busy surviving. Too convinced we weren't born with whatever "it" takes.
That night I went home and scribbled this song into a notebook. It was one of the first songs I ever fully wrote. I still didn't pick up a guitar after that — life kept me focused on being a husband and a father first while also keeping my company alive.
But something had shifted.
This song is for the underdog. The ones who weren't handed anything. The ones built by pressure. Built by scars. Built by a relentless, don't-know-how-to-quit spirit.
Some people are born ready.
The rest of us? We're built.
And sometimes all it takes is one moment — one voice — to make you step off the sidelines and into your own story.
So thank you, Trace… for reminding a guy in the stands that he was built for more.
© Nathan Beard / Florida Divine Intervention Songs LLC. All rights reserved.
I've been married to my wife for twenty-four years now.
And over those years, I've watched something happen to a lot of marriages. Somewhere along the way, people stop chasing. They stop dating. They stop noticing. There's this joke that if a man would just treat his wife like she's still his girlfriend, life would be a whole lot sweeter.
But I don't want that to be a joke in our house.
I've never wanted to "arrive" in marriage. I want to keep pursuing her. I want to keep building something new — a new experience, a new memory, a new way to remind her she's still the girl I fell in love with. I work hard every day, not just at my job, but at loving her well. Because love that lasts doesn't happen by accident — it's chosen.
We used to think we'd be cremated one day. Just ashes in the wind. But the more we talked about it, the more we realized… that didn't feel like us. Our whole life has been side by side. Why wouldn't our resting place be the same?
So now we've decided — when that day comes — we'll rest next to each other. Just like we've lived.
This song is about that choice. About never stopping the chase. About loving her today like she's still my girlfriend… and planning to stand next to her for eternity.
Because I'm not done pursuing her.
Not now. Not ever.
© Nathan Beard / Florida Divine Intervention Songs LLC. All rights reserved.
I wrote this song during a season of my life when I started doing something I had avoided most of my life… looking inward.
When I finally could afford to, I started going to counseling. I thought I was going in to fix a few problems… but what actually happened was we started pulling on threads.
Why do I shut down emotionally when things get hard? Why do I crave affirmation so much? Why do I try to fix everything instead of feeling it? Why do I carry shame longer than I should?
We talked about childhood patterns, validation, fear of failure, fear of abandonment… all the stuff most of us spend our lives running from instead of walking through.
But one thing kept showing up in those conversations over and over again.
Fear.
Fear of not being enough. Fear of rejection. Fear of losing love. Fear of being exposed.
And the more I thought about it, the more I realized fear might be the thing that destroys more dreams, more relationships, and more lives than anything else in this world. It convinces people not to try… not to speak… not to love… not to become who they were meant to be.
It builds cages around people who were born to fly.
One night I got home and this thought hit me.
Fear might be the worst four-letter word ever spoken.
But right behind that thought came another realization.
The only thing powerful enough to beat fear… the only thing that actually changes the world…
is another four-letter word.
Love.
And that's where this song came from.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
We were at Red Rocks Amphitheater on a Monday night, listening to one of her favorite country artists.
I had work early the next morning. Real life was waiting — alarm clocks, responsibilities, the whole thing. But we were having way too much fun to care. And she looked so good that I knew right then… there was not going to be any rest that night.
During one of the songs, I had her pulled in close. We were just swaying to the music, and I started noticing the rhythm of our hips moving with the beat — sometimes steady on a four-count, sometimes something slow and easy.
And right there, in the middle of the concert, I pulled my phone out and started typing.
"One brush of your skin and I'm sleepless tonight."
That's really what this song is about. After all these years, she can still flip that switch. Still give me that look that says the night's not over when the encore ends.
She was a little slow to let me share this one… and I don't blame her. It's a little glimpse into our Monday night at Red Rocks.
But I think that's part of a good marriage too — still dancing, still flirting, still losing sleep for each other.
Because sometimes the best nights aren't planned.
They just happen when the music's right… and you're holding the right person.
© Nathan Beard / Florida Divine Intervention Songs LLC. All rights reserved.
This song came from a moment of looking back at the road that got me here.
Like a lot of people, I started life with big, clean dreams. I thought the road ahead would be straight — clear skies, open highway, nothing but forward motion.
But life doesn't usually work that way.
There were some rough seasons… some turns I wish I hadn't taken… and some moments where I felt completely lost. Times where I wondered if I had missed my chance to become the man I hoped to be.
But through all of it, one thing kept me moving.
I never went backwards.
I just kept taking the next step forward.
And somewhere along the way, I realized something powerful — the road I once questioned was the very road that shaped me. The struggles, the failures, the long nights… they were carving something into me I couldn't see at the time.
Now when I look around at my life — the people I love, the man I'm becoming — I honestly don't know how I would have gotten here without that road.
"Road to You" is about that realization.
And if someone listening today feels lost or like they've taken too many wrong turns… I hope this song reminds them that sometimes the hardest road is the one that brings you exactly where you were meant to be.
You just have to keep moving forward.
© Nathan Beard / Florida Divine Intervention Songs LLC. All rights reserved.
This is probably the most personal song I've written.
As my daughter grew up, she started learning that her dad wasn't the perfect man she once thought he was. She saw some of my failures… some of my brokenness… and the ways I had fallen short as a father and as a man.
That's a hard moment for any parent — when your kids begin to see the real version of you.
Around that same time, my life started changing. My faith was growing. I was trying to become a better husband, a better father, and a better man. Not perfect… just better.
One day my daughter sent a text message to my wife. My wife showed it to me later.
It said, "I hope dad stays this way… I want him to go to heaven someday."
That hit me harder than anything anyone had ever said to me.
Not because it was judgment… but because it was hope. A child's love hoping her dad keeps walking the right path.
If you're ever wondering whether you're moving in the right direction in life… hearing something like that from your child will tell you.
"Stay This Way" is about that moment. About the quiet way God can speak through a child. And about a father realizing that the man he's becoming matters more than the man he used to be.
Sometimes the most powerful sermons… come from your own kids.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
I wrote this song laying on the beach.
And if you know me, you know I don't sit still. When we're at the beach, I'm swimming, I'm running, I'm doing something. Stillness has never been comfortable for me.
But that day… I couldn't outrun what was going on inside.
My faith had just started to grow. Before that, I carried a lot of weight — pressure, responsibility, expectation — but I never let it show. I wore strength like armor. I told myself I could handle it. I didn't need help. I didn't need anyone to pray for me.
"I got this."
But the truth was… I didn't.
I let work get in the way of being the husband I wanted to be. The father I wanted to be. The man I wanted to be in my community. I deeply desired to be better — more present, more patient, more grounded — but I was trying to do it all alone.
And as we all learn eventually… we can't.
Writing on that beach that day cleared my head. It was the first time I really let my emotions show in a song. The first time I admitted that strength isn't pretending you're fine — it's admitting you need grace. It's admitting you need prayer.
"Until I Don't" is about that breaking point. The moment pride gives way to honesty.
Because sometimes "I got this" only works… until it doesn't.
And that's where healing begins.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
A buddy of mine has this huge whiskey wall in his man room, and one night I told him he ought to name it "The Whiskey Time Machine"… because every time I walk in there, it's the next morning and I'm waking up somewhere I don't remember laying down.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized whiskey really does have a strange power.
It can take you backward.
One sip and you're twenty-five again. She's still there and for a moment, goodbye hasn't happened yet.
But it can also push you forward. To a place where the edges of her memory are softer. Where the ache isn't as sharp. Where maybe you don't hear her voice every time the room gets quiet.
And I started wondering — what would that do to a man who's lost his love? If he could drink something that let him choose… rewind to the best days, or fast-forward to the healing?
This song isn't really about whiskey.
It's about time. And regret. And the dangerous comfort of living anywhere but the present.
Because sometimes the bottle doesn't numb the pain.
It just moves you around inside it.
And that's the Whiskey Time Machine.
© Nathan Beard / Florida Divine Intervention Songs LLC. All rights reserved.
I wrote this song after witnessing something I had never seen before.
A good buddy of mine from Tennessee lost his dad, and the day before the funeral, the family gathered — not just to grieve — but to dig the grave themselves. They were down in that hole, shovels in hand, preparing the ground where their father would soon rest for eternity.
I stood there with my hat in my hand, not saying much. Just watching.
There were no machines. No rush. Just boots in the dirt, side by side. Stories rising up with the soil. Tears mixing with laughter. It wasn't just digging a grave — it was the last act of love they could give him.
And it struck me how connected they are — to their land, to their community, to each other. These are the same men who make their moonshine from Tennessee spring water, who know the ridgelines like family names. There's something rooted there. Something steady.
That tradition felt sacred. Raw. Honest.
"With Their Own Hands" is about that moment. About the dignity of doing the hard thing yourself. About honoring a man not just with words, but with sweat and soil.
That day changed me.
Now the Tennessee hills feel like a part of me too.
© Nathan Beard / Florida Divine Intervention Songs LLC. All rights reserved.
I've always been the kind of guy who wants to try everything.
Sports, adventures, new hobbies, learning something I've never done before — if there's something happening, I want to be part of it. Life has always felt too short to sit around watching TV when there's a whole world out there to experience.
The problem with that mindset is there's never enough hours in the day. I'd jump from one thing to the next, chasing whatever looked exciting in that moment.
Somewhere along the way I started joking that I probably developed a little bit of adult-onset ADHD… because my mind was always onto the next challenge, the next hobby, the next mountain to climb.
But something interesting happened as life went on.
Out of all the things I've chased — the sports, the adventures, the projects, the passions — one thing slowly became the center of my focus.
My wife.
I've always refused to believe age means you have to slow down. If someone asks me to try something new, the answer is usually yes.
These days that's still true… but the difference is, the thing I want most is to do it with her.
"All In" is really about that realization — that after chasing a thousand things in life, sometimes the greatest adventure is choosing one person and going all in.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
The first time I introduced my wife to my Grandma Ruby was about twenty-five years ago.
Grandma looked at her and said, "Sweetheart, would you like some apple pie?"
My wife politely said no — she wasn't hungry.
Grandma just giggled and said, "Oh honey… it isn't pie. It's cinnamon flavored moonshine."
That was my wife's introduction to Grandma Ruby.
Now the funny thing is, Grandma wasn't a drunk at all — quite the opposite. She just loved life. She was always laughing, always playing games, always having fun.
To this day she's still the best bowler I've ever seen — rolled over a 250 one random family night like it was nothing. She was a great golfer, loved gambling games, and she carried this joy about her that never faded, no matter how old she got.
Toward the end of her life, when she was in hospice, I pulled up a chair beside her and asked her something I'd been wondering.
I said, "Grandma… how old do you feel in your head?"
She laughed and said, "Oh honey, I feel just as young as you. My body just can't keep up anymore."
That moment stuck with me.
Because aging isn't really about the number of years you've lived — it's about the spirit you carry inside.
And I made a promise to myself that day…
No matter how old I get, I'm going to keep a little bit of Grandma Ruby's spirit in me.
That forever-young, cinnamon-moonshine, apple pie mind.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story and streaming links.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song isn't really about being a "bad boy." It's about understanding the machinery behind one.
For a long time, I watched people talk about sin and temptation like they were sudden lightning strikes — like people just wake up one day and decide to wreck their lives. But the older I got, the more I realized that most of the time it's not lightning… it's wiring.
We all carry triggers. Old habits. Old wounds. The things that make our blood run faster when we know we should slow down. Some people chase approval, some chase comfort, some chase chaos. For some of us, the rush itself becomes the addiction — the thrill of pushing the edge just to prove we can.
And the world has a strange way of rewarding that kind of rebellion. The reckless guy often gets the attention. People admire the confidence, the rule-breaking, the danger. From the outside it looks like freedom.
But if you stay on that road long enough, you start noticing the bill that comes due.
"Triggers" is about that tension between the pull of the wild side and the quiet voice that keeps calling you back. The part of us that wants to run toward the cliff… and the part that knows we were meant for something more.
Because sometimes the devil doesn't need to drag you anywhere.
He just waits for the moment when you're the one reaching for the trigger.
And sometimes the biggest victory in a man's life isn't that he never walked that road.
It's that he finally learned how to stop pulling the trigger.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story and streaming links.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song came from a trip I took to Wyoming with my Uncle Chris.
He had a band playing a wedding out there and asked if I wanted to come along for the weekend to watch the band and learn how everything worked. I didn't hesitate — I was in.
We got everything set up, and I noticed an extra guitar and stand on stage. Right before the music started, Chris looked over at me and said, "I know you didn't plan on this, but I want you to stand up here and play with us all night."
Now I was nervous as all get out. I didn't know a single person in that room. But I stepped up there anyway.
Truth is… my guitar wasn't even plugged in. But I still had to follow every rhythm, every chord change, and every cue. Standing up there gave me a whole new appreciation for how musicians communicate with each other without saying a word.
The next day we ended up at a place called the Eden Saloon.
It was a real cowboy bar — filled with Wyoming ranchers who looked like they'd just stepped off a horse. We spent the afternoon singing karaoke and stayed way later than we planned.
Todd and Angie own the place and play in Chris' band. They're some of the kindest, most generous people you'll ever meet. Since then they've even come down to Florida and helped record fiddle and vocals on a few songs with us. I realized pretty quickly that Chris' band isn't just a band — it's a family built around music.
So if you ever find yourself in Wyoming… put the Eden Saloon on your bucket list.
Because the spirit of the West is still alive in places like that.
© Nathan Beard / Florida Divine Intervention Songs LLC. All rights reserved.
There's a quiet pressure a lot of men grow up with, even if nobody ever says it out loud.
Be the rock. Be the steady one. Don't break. Don't show the cracks.
In relationships, that often means being the shoreline. The place where the waves hit. The place that holds the line when emotions rise, when old wounds surface, when words come out sharper than they were meant to.
Some days the water is calm. Some days it's beautiful. But other days the wind picks up and the waves keep crashing. And you just stand there… absorbing it.
That's where this song came from.
Not from a perfect relationship. From a real one. From a season a lot of couples go through but almost nobody talks about — the season where you're not really thriving… you're just surviving.
You're still committed. You're still there. You still believe in each other. But every storm leaves a little erosion behind. Every argument, every old scar that gets reopened, every long night where you wonder how you got here.
I knew one thing the whole time though.
I was never going to give up. My shoreline wasn't going to disappear. The foundation was too deep for that.
But there were moments where I wondered something harder…
Not will we make it?
I knew we would.
The real question was…
Will we ever thrive again?
Will we rediscover the joy, the laughter, the light that brought us together in the first place… or will we just learn how to get by?
This song is about standing there as the shore. Holding the line through the storms. Believing the waves will calm.
And hoping that one day the same water that battered the shoreline… will become the tide that brings life back to it.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story and streaming links.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story and streaming links.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song came from thinking about what real courage actually looks like.
Growing up, I was taught a simple rule: if something's wrong, you stand up. Doesn't matter if you're the smallest guy in the room or the only one willing to say something — you stand up anyway. I remember one moment in eighth grade where that lesson really stuck with me. A kid who had been bullying people finally crossed a line, and I stepped in. I ended up with some bruises, but I also walked away realizing something important: sometimes the right thing costs you something. But doing nothing costs you even more.
As I got older, I noticed something change. A lot of us learned to smooth things over instead of confronting them. We started calling wrong things "normal," and silence became easier than truth. Somewhere along the way, standing up for what's right started to feel uncomfortable — even unpopular.
But when I started looking more closely at the life of Jesus, I realized something powerful: He wasn't passive. Yes, He loved people fiercely. He showed compassion to the broken and grace to the lost. But He also stood firm against hypocrisy, injustice, and lies. He flipped tables when the moment called for it. He didn't water down the truth just to keep the peace.
That's where this song was born.
"Fight Like Jesus Does" isn't about anger or violence — it's about conviction. It's about loving people enough to stand for what's right, even when it's hard. It's about refusing to bow to fear, refusing to stay silent when truth needs a voice.
Because faith isn't meant to be quiet or comfortable.
Sometimes faith means stepping forward, standing tall, and remembering who you were made to be — and realizing you're not standing alone.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song came from watching people and realizing how different we all seem on the surface… but how similar we really are underneath.
I've spent a lot of time around different kinds of people — friends, coworkers, strangers in airports, folks at bars, people in church pews, and people just trying to get through a hard day. And the longer you watch people, the more you notice something interesting. Everyone has their own way of dealing with life.
Some people laugh through pain. Some people cry when they're overwhelmed with gratitude. Some fall in love fast, others guard their hearts for years. Some speak every truth out loud, while others carry it quietly inside.
At first it looks like we're all completely different.
But then you step back and realize something bigger. Beneath all those differences, we're all carrying the same things — hope, fear, love, loss, dreams, regrets. Different expressions… same human heart.
And I started thinking about that old phrase people argue about: Is the glass half full or half empty?
What if we've been asking the wrong question?
What if the real answer is that the glass is already full? Full of experiences, emotions, chances to connect, chances to grow, chances to love the people around us.
"Fill the Glass" is really about living honestly. Laugh when something's funny. Cry when something hurts. Speak your truth. Forgive when you can. Don't hold back the parts of life that make you human.
Because every one of us carries a spark inside.
And when we bring those sparks together… we don't just see the glass.
We light the whole room.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story and streaming links.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story and streaming links.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
For a long time, I believed something a lot of people believe without even realizing it.
That the biggest moments in life happen early.
You fall in love. You get married. You have kids. You build a career. You check the boxes that everyone says define a successful life.
And after a while, you start to think maybe the highlight reel is already behind you.
I remember looking around one day thinking, Well… maybe that was it. Maybe the most meaningful chapters had already happened.
But something interesting started happening as I got older.
When I slowed down just a little, I started noticing things I had rushed past for years. A quiet morning. Coffee on the porch. Watching my kids become people I respect. Laughing with my wife over something small that would've gone unnoticed before.
The moments didn't get bigger.
They got deeper.
And that's when it hit me: gratitude gets louder as you age. Not because life gets easier, but because you finally understand what matters. The little things start hitting you right in the chest.
This song is about that realization — that life doesn't peak in your youth. If you're paying attention, the meaning keeps growing. The appreciation keeps growing.
And sometimes the best part of the journey isn't behind you at all.
Sometimes it's just getting started.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song started with a moment in church that completely flipped the way I thought about faith.
The pastor said something that stuck with me. He said a lot of people walk around believing that Jesus is mostly about "no." No to this. No to that. No to the fun things. No to the things we want. For a lot of people, faith feels like a long list of red lights and warning signs.
But then he said something that hit me in a completely different way.
He said Jesus isn't standing there trying to stop your life… He's trying to guide it. He's the one lighting the road ahead so you can go farther than you ever could on your own.
And that idea stayed with me.
Because when you really look at it, most of the red lights and yellow lights in life come from us. From our choices. From our shame. From the lies we tell ourselves about who we are and what we deserve.
We stall out because we're afraid. We slam the brakes because of guilt. We sit at intersections in our lives convinced we're disqualified from moving forward.
But grace doesn't work like that.
Grace says you can keep going. Grace says your worst mistakes aren't the end of your story. Grace says the road ahead is still open.
When you let Jesus lead, the path doesn't suddenly become easy… but it becomes clear. The direction changes. The fear loses its grip. You stop living your life staring in the rearview mirror. You start moving forward.
I left church that day with that idea spinning in my head, and over the next couple weeks this song started coming together.
Because faith, at its core, isn't about being stopped.
It's about realizing the road ahead has been open the whole time.
And when mercy is driving… it's green lights only.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story and streaming links.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story and streaming links.
Written by Nathan Beard · © 2025 Nathan Beard. All rights reserved.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
This song is in the works. Check back soon for the full story, lyrics, and streaming links.
Nate & Ashlee
The road trips, the concerts, the moments where music and travel collide. From dive bars to amphitheaters — we chase the music wherever it takes us.
The Ford Amphitheater
We're building out the archive. Check back for more photos, videos, and stories from the road.
Get In Touch
These are songwriter demos. The lyrics are the point. If you hear something you’d like to build on, let’s talk.