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Maps of Rain 2 by Nzalie

SongGPT
Maps of Rain 2 by Nzalie - Ambient Pop,Female (Breathy, Reverbed) Vocals music cover art

Maps of Rain 2

Ambient Pop,Female (Breathy, Reverbed) Vocals

0:003:44
Lyrics
Description
(Verse 1)
Tin-roof staccato, a Morse code on the night,
Neon puddles answer with a fractured light.
Rain traces gutters like cartographers with time,
A thousand tiny rivers sketching the skyline.
(Pre-Chorus)
I press my palm to the window — the glass remembers,
Cold rings of water spin the city into ember.
(Chorus)
Rain maps salt upon my skin, old maps I can read,
I become the rain’s refrain, the echo that it leaves.
Under lamps that melt into sheets of silver rain,
I keep the little languages the storm sings to my veins.
(Verse 2)
A streetlamp hums the memory of someone’s laugh,
Footsteps folding into puddles, slow and half.
You left a compass on my coat — its needle bent by storms,
Now every drop rewrites the lines where I was torn.
(Pre-Chorus)
The thunder offers counsel — low and soft and plain,
I learn to count the pauses between each falling name.
(Chorus)
Rain maps salt upon my skin, old maps I can read,
I become the rain’s refrain, the echo that it leaves.
Under lamps that melt into sheets of silver rain,
I keep the little languages the storm sings to my veins.
(Instrumental Interlude — vocalise)
Tip-tap… psh-psh… tsk tsk — (voices like drop-threads)
(tip-tap, tip-tap — a lattice of small drums)
(Bridge)
The bruise-blue sky peels back like a photograph,
And alleyways become canals of cast-off charts.
We are windows, we are maps with rivers for veins,
Flooded with notation of both losses and refrains.
(Chorus — Variation)
Rain maps salt upon my skin; I read the constellations,
I become the rain’s refrain — a soft, repeating anthem.
Glass holds a thousand afterwords the night won’t explain,
I keep the little languages the storm speaks to my veins.
(Outro)
A final clatter like coins into an old fountain,
The sky exhales a pale hush, the streetlight's chosen.
One last bead rolls down, signs off in liquid grain—
I fold the wet atlas, stay humming the rain.
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