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Jami Attenberg asked me to write music inspired by her forthcoming novel The Melting Season, and this is it.

It’s a beautiful story, and features love gone away, a long drive, and a lot of shame, all themes near and dear to my heart.

Jami Attenberg can be found here, and you can pre-order The Melting Season, set for release on January 21st, right here.

The Words:

I am afraid of what’s inside of me. Something awful. Something weak. Some kind of hurt is hidden away, and I feel nothing, and I am afraid of what’s inside of you. Something desperate, greedy and small. You’re never finished, you’re never okay. You’re never happy. And I am afraid.

Is this the end? Is this the last? You can smell it like rain. Where has our love gone? Where is my friend? Who will save us now? This is the end. The end of childhood, the end of knowing, the end of our dreams. We had such riches, but it’s all been spent, and there’s nothing left to leave. This is the end.

Hate me, I took everything. Forgive me, I took nothing. Will you miss me when I’m gone, like I missed you before? Before we went wrong? Like I missed you before we went wrong.

You’re long gone. When did you go? Was it your father? Was it the money? Was it my emptiness all along? Nobody’s perfect and I’m long gone, driving for days, snow-blind and tired. Don’t try to find me — I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve done nothing right. Nothing at all.

Say goodbye to nothing at all.

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The leaves were dry. It was July then. The birds were tired and silent, and the wind in the leaves sounded just like your voice. Baby, please don’t forget me.

I’m sorry. I was a bad dream. Baby, I must have been crazy. Wait, wait, please — there is still hope left. Stop, please, I am not done yet. Baby please don’t forget me.

Who could ever love you like I do? And who could ever love me but you?

The leaves are dead. It is December. My birthday’s tomorrow, baby. Do you remember? And I … I’m about to grow old alone. Baby please come back to me. Baby please come back to me.

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I used to drink every night. Now I just drink on Wednesdays, stirring the ashes of love.

I used to cry every night. Now I just cry on Wednesdays, stirring the ashes of love.

Well I could get over you, but I don’t want to, because missing you is all I have left.

I should forget you, but I don’t want to.

I just don’t want to.

I once was happy every night. Now only on Wednesdays, while I’m stirring the ashes of love.

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In my feathered heart I know it’s spring, and I fly north tonight, I take wing. Nevermind the snow.

Wire, wire, rest a while. Curl toes and sleep. Gray skies, summer eyes, magpies and me, nevermind the snow.

December in the south can be deceiving — balmy tonight, but tomorrow freezing.

Corn been gone, taken, stalks will I sleep. Feathered heart mistaken. Bird go deep. This is what you wanted. This is your spring. This bright, shining passion, this shivering thing. Nevermind the snow. Nevermind the snow.

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Liquor store shine and dazzle … I am in here. Give me something warm enough to melt a girl’s heart. I’m drowned — I’m alive. Hallelujah, I live dangerously.

My tires sing on the road, is it raining for real? Or am I imagining things? Oh Lord, I’ve been imagining things. I’m here at your gate and I step off into thin air. I live dangerously.

Frogs and crickets, wind and leaves, gravel crunches beneath my feet, and I am knocking, an April Fool, and a bottle shines in my hand for you.

Warm and rare, a whisper lives in there swimming in amber. Open and listen, tremble and blush, capture something.

She’s out of town — I won’t be missed. As long as we don’t kiss, baby, it’s all right. Let’s live dangerously.

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