Psycho Sweetie

Lyrics:

In my dreams I’m a warrior
Princess in a patterned skirt
Oh yeah
Reaching for unanswered prayers
Hovering in the autumn air
Oh yeah

They say
Don’t leave me like this
But I don’t need them to exist
They say
Don’t leave me like this
But no homeland could handle it
I want too much

I hear 
Languages that I almost know on the
Train ride back to the New York snow 
Oh, see
Deep debrief on my wildest dreams
That candlelight couldn’t give to me
Oh, see

He says
Don’t leave me like this
But I don’t him to exist
He says
Don’t leave me like this
But no romance could handle it
I want too much

I, I, I
I, I, I

Don’t leave me like this
But I don’t need what I won’t miss
They’ve said
Don’t leave me like this
But no one person could handle it
I want too much

I Want Too Much

Ruin My Nights

This is an EP made up of stories. Each song is a piece of me. All things done in quiet, yet each one can all be pulled off the shelf and felt. It is not shouted. It is whispered between the bookshelves inside my own personal summer Library.

I’d like to say it’s just a “long story” but you’ve already heard most of it. We love in stories. We call these short stories “memories”. There are so many things for us to look back on. And there are still so many things that were left… un… whispered.

Goosebumps raise on our skin. They raise in moments that are chilly and nerve-racking. We need someone. We need someone with their arms accidentally around us when we hop in the backseat full on friends. We want out of the crisp, fall air. We want quiet, exhilarating warmth.

It is a very vulnerable moment when are when we are laying in bed, alone, wondering. What we could’ve said, what they are saying now, what went wrong. Text messages live forever to haunt us. To relive everything, to reinvent, to just hear their voice. But we can’t. So to let go, we have to stop. We have to stop rereading. The time comes to recognize the end as it happened and to realize there’s nothing new to read.

We drink in, or “Sip” on charismatic people. It is a feeling that spreads in waves from your fingers to your toes. It burns in a brilliant way. You bite your lip and images unravel in your mind, like flipping the pages of a storybook. It took me time to understand this burn, this excitement, to put this feeling into words because this… this was a kick like alcohol.

Stories are sweet. Stories are personal and unique, just like music. I hope these books I’ve written in my mind resonate with you too. So thank you for reading with me.

Mary Ruth McLeay

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