Back In The Wick

Hulvey turns his own story into a series of blunt questions on "Back In The Wick," asking how a Christian actually lives out the mission when the same city block that shaped you is still pulling at your allegiances. The opening hook sets the terms: praying for the homeless but not for the wicked, sitting in the pew as a critic before admitting the faith is personal. From there the verses move through specifics rather than slogans — friends smoking, a mother looked at with hate, music once made purely to blow up until God told him to throw it away. He name-checks a Focus rather than a luxury car, insists he doesn't need his name in lights, and traces a path from middle school bookbags and trying to fit in with the cool cats to a changed life at twenty-two. Family memory anchors the gratitude: a mother fired, a father fired, too many moves to count, and a God who kept the family alive through it. The chip-on-the-shoulder image of the old neighborhood gives the title its edge, and the closing admission — that he cracked under the weight and isn't trying to go back — lands as the song's real confession.