The Folded Matchbook - Margaux Devereux (Official Audio)

a square of cardboard, a throbbing floor, and a warm 🥂 hush before the door This is warm tropical-house at 112 bpm with plucked synths, soft mallets and a rolling bass, made for a restless sidewalk night. Listen to the full catalog:    / @margauxdevereuxmusic   for the nervous fingers... you're at a sidewalk table, bending a matchbook into a hard little square while the club still throbs through the pavement. that jittery, waiting feeling when someone has said it's time to go and you haven't answered yet. two people, one glass each, and a conversation neither of you will strike a match to. my fingers crease the cardboard tight, waiting for words in the neon light. put it on for the end of a night out, when the club bass is only a faint throb under your feet. for anyone who fidgets with whatever is nearby when a hard conversation is coming. if you play melodic house, sunset pop or soft dance-pop, this warm groove sits right beside them. soft mallets and a round kick keep it glowing, with a sultry lead vocal right up front. have you ever carried a spark all night and never let it catch? your jacket is still on the chair, smoke on the collar and salt in your hair. a heavy front door, the heat of the floor still on your skin, and nothing said yet. do you fold it again until the edges line up, just to keep your hands busy? for the moment after the dance floor, when the glow is still warm and the answer is still folded up. Lyrics The folded matchbook sits right by the glass I bend the cardboard strip over the crown As basslines echo from up and down You left your jacket right over the chair With smoke on your collar and salt in your hair The little red stems are all tucked in a row While you tell me it's time we should probably go And my fingers crease the cardboard tight Waiting for words in the neon light And the folded matchbook holds the heat of the floor While we stand on the edge of a heavy front door It is bent into shape by a nervous command With the spark of a secret still caught in my hand Yeah, the folded matchbook keeps the shape of the test As the rhythm fades low in the quietest chest You slide it across to the edge of the wood Right where we talked about what we withstood The sulphur is dry and the tip is unlit Just waiting around for the moment we quit I fold it again till the edges align Like drawing a border across a new line And my fingers crease the cardboard tight Waiting for words in the neon light And the folded matchbook holds the heat of the floor While we stand on the edge of a heavy front door It is bent into shape by a nervous command With the spark of a secret still caught in my hand Yeah, the folded matchbook keeps the shape of the test As the rhythm fades low in the quietest chest We never struck flame on the edge of the bar We just carried the ember this far A square little block of a restless design Left sitting between your glass and mine And the folded matchbook holds the heat of the floor While we stand on the edge of a heavy front door It is bent into shape by a nervous command With the spark of a secret still caught in my hand Yeah, the folded matchbook keeps the shape of the test As the rhythm fades low in the quietest chest Just a folded matchbook Left right on the wood Margaux Devereux is a virtual artist. This song and visual were created with AI. #tropicalhouse #sunsetpop #warmpop