Voices From A War We Can’t Ignore

I, Thorne Empire, never set out to write war songs. I set out to tell the truth as I see it; from across the ocean, watching a country bleed in real time. My songs supporting Ukraine weren’t written for attention. They were written because the invasion demanded a response. Because the lies, corruption, and brutality coming from Russia need to be named. Plainly. Brutally.

“Flickering Flame” started as a letter in my mind. I imagined a Ukrainian soldier writing home to his mother. Not as a hero, not as a soldier, but as a son. Roads that “smell like rain, and iron, smoke, and broken grain,” fields that used to mean harvest now strewn with destruction. Sunflowers, once symbols of home and life, bent under the weight of war.

The soldier doesn’t want glory. He didn’t choose this. He didn’t dream of bullets or frostbitten nights. He dreamed of enjoying life. Yet here he is, forced into a war he never asked for. The song holds his fear, his grief, his longing; but it also holds his resolve. Love for his mother. Love for his country. A promise to endure, step by step, mile by mile. It’s quiet, persistent, human.

Then there’s “Russian Warship,” which moves differently. It’s sharp, angry, unapologetic. It was inspired by the defenders of Snake Island in 2022. Russian aggression is exposed in the starkest terms: an empire hiding behind steel, lies, and intimidation, confronting people who refuse to bow. That repeated line; “Russian warship, go fuck yourself,” isn’t for shock. It’s defiance. It’s ordinary people refusing to accept tyranny, refusing to let fear dictate their lives.

I don’t glorify violence. I show it. I name it. I show the human cost and the moral bankruptcy behind Russian aggression. Every line of the song is about contrast; on one side, empty power and blind obedience to a tyrant; on the other, the courage, love, and dignity of people standing for home and family. Empires crumble. Lies can’t endure. Freedom survives.

What connects both songs is perspective. I don’t write as a strategist or a politician. I write as someone who believes words still matter. I write because remembering the human cost matters. Because naming corruption and brutality matters. The anger in these songs isn’t theatrical; it’s real, grounded, human. It comes from watching the world fail to notice what is happening to millions of lives.

I can’t end the war with my songs. But I can tell the truth. I can preserve the memory of what’s happening. I can hold the human cost in words so it doesn’t become background noise. I can keep the flame flickering, fragile but alive. That’s what my music does. That’s how I fight; by refusing to be silent when the world tries to look away from Ukraine, when Russian lies try to drown out the story of its people.

When I write, I write for the soldier who writes home. I write for the people who watch their homes burn, the children who will never forget, the families torn apart by invasion. I write for the truth that can’t be erased, for the courage that won’t bend, and for the love that keeps people standing when everything around them collapses. This music is not about glory or politics. It’s about being human, about refusing to look away, and about telling a story that the world needs to hear.