Rainstreak Confessions

{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}