Backseat July
Writes about a summer that may not have happened the way she remembers it
style
the numbers
- bpm
- 99
- key
- F major
- energy
- 0.70
- dance
- 0.94
- valence
- 0.38
- vocal at
- 8.6s
- length
- 2:46
- language
- En
lyrics
Chlorine hair and a gas-station ice, your flip-flop lost beneath the seat. We played that burned CD twice — skip on track three, still sounded sweet. July moved slow like melting blue. I moved slower next to you. Almost, almost, we were almost, close as heat on a vinyl seat, almost, almost, we were almost — the word I never let complete. The disposable came back in fall — twenty-four frames of glare and you. Your thumb half-covering it all, and still the best light I ever knew. Almost, almost, we were almost, close as heat on a vinyl seat, almost, almost, we were almost — the word I never let complete. If I'd said it at the lake — but soda left too long goes flat. Some things sweeten as they fade. I never got to finish that. Almost, almost, we were almost, close as heat on a vinyl seat, almost, almost, we were almost — the word I never let complete. Almost... Almost...