Muscle Memory
This song is titled Muscle Memory. It’s a love song for physical exertion, sun-baked Northern California hills, grapefruits, and a girl back east.
Muscle MemoryThere is salt on my skin, and there’s dirt on my feet, and there’s grapefruit drying on my fingernails. There is so much sugar still left on my lips, and I’m just trying my hardest to keep my hands busy. Your warm hand pressed between two of mine, I am finding the muscles, I am testing your digits. My nervous habits don’t work all alone so I’m finding new ways to satisfy.
Counting every kiss I would lay on your skin is math that doesn’t mean anything, anymore. I found a spot where the river runs deeper, it’s colder and clearer, and I wish you could be here. Sitting on a rock underneath the sharp, sharp sun. Let the water rise up and wash these feelings out of me.
Well it tasted like salt and it tasted like blood, it hurt like a tattoo I never wanted to fade, and I thought I would fight as hard as anything. And I’ve told myself that if I drown in music, or two wheels on asphalt that I’d still be happy, but I turned and listened, singing “things are bad, things are bad.”
Though the tone may seem disheartening and isolated, this song carries a celebratory feeling for me.