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Brette Irish - Melting
03:19
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Thinking about calling you on my phone
I know you wouldn't answer but I love the sound of your voicemail
This heat and the noise from my box fan
Melting pretend memories of you
Can't remember why you even loved me
Why you said you dreamed about me
I left your house at 11:30
You did to me what I've done to you
You always told me I'd be better
Without you here to bring me down
Summer sun and a nagging in my head
You say don't worry like I have a choice in the matter
Can't remember why you even loved me
Why you said you dreamed about me
I left your house at 11:30
You did to me what I've done to you
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Two thirty on a Friday afternoon, a box fan in the window I am writing to you. I am watching the blades twist and move. We are twirling inside this loop.
Would I be better to just leave you alone? To live your life the way you do, not begging on the phone. Pull you back in, again and again. Poor old misery, she just wants a friend.
Why, oh why, do we stay here?
Am I so afraid, of a little hot air?
Now it's three thirty on this Friday afternoon, I've cried so many times today the subject I can't choose. Stain my pillows, at the end of June. I'm not so sure I should hear from you.
Well I came back to the city with nothing much to show. Just paintings hang from where I've been, I hope they say I've grown. The dam is lifted I watch every feeling flow, I'm astounded by how little I know.
Why, oh why, do we stay here?
Am I so afraid, of a little hot air?
The open window, sends breezes of possibility
The sticky summer wind, surrounding you and me
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Brette Irish Portland, Oregon
Brette Irish is a composer and musician in Portland, OR. Likes sad pop music, scoring, inclusive art, and house shows.
Full length coming soon on Good Cheer Records.
@brette_
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