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{driving
bass-heavy beat, night drive through rain-soaked streets,
city rain through window,
distant sirens}
This isn't Sex and the City,
nobody’s watching the room
Je suis seule dans le noir,
facing the impending doom
Take off the cool clothes,
the facade is just a dress
Pourquoi rester chic
quand le cœur est un mess?
I go to the bar,
c'est monumental, le risque est réel
If he’s into it,
c’est accidentel, a story to tell.
{dry, weary, observational vocal delivery,
subtle metallic reverb on monumental} What’s it like to be admired?
Hot and desired? Ce n'est pas un film,
le scénario a expiré.
Nobody sees me, le vrai problème est là
I’m a believer, but the stars aren't for me,
pas à pas. Turn it up,
baby, my song on the radio.
I'm drunk and I'm high,
le vide dans le studio.
{melodic aching confrontational
vocal, layered shimmering harmonies,
cynical
edge}
Mr. Driver, five stars,
drive me home in the night
If this was the show,
he would have called,
everything bright. But I’m in the shower,
seeking a warm touch to replace The boredom of the bar,
l’ennui sur son visage,
l’espace. He’s off his meds,
un artiste, no headboard in sight.
Do that again? Peut-être.
Then leave in the night.
{rhythmic fast-paced vocal, rapid-fire vocal chop on pizza pocket implied in flow}
What is it all for?
Pour quoi faire tout ça?
Quickly out the door.
Je pars, je n'suis plus là.
Overrated. Surévalué.
{music drops to city street hum,
whisper close-mic vocal}
100% Tiguidou.
The script is shredded.
I guess you never know,
until you try.
{resolved
elegant
vocal, raw intimate bedroom studio,
final crisp seatbelt click and car driving away}