Maroon is a song about the unbearable end of a relationship. The emotional lyrics combined with the visceral production makes the song feel like what a devastating breakup feels like, the aftermath of a relationship you hoped would never end, the kind of heartbreak time could never mend. The morning came, the silence came, the end came. The sadness is so intense it twists into rage. I chose you. I lost you. You left me.
When the morning came we
were cleaning incense off your
vinyl shelf, ‘cause we lost track of time again.
Laughin’ with my feet in your lap,
like you were my closest friend
How’d we end up on the floor anyway?
You say, “Your roommate’s cheap-ass screw-top rose, that’s how.”
I see you every day now.
The first verse describes a relationship that takes you off-guard. You get so caught up in each other, you don’t notice that you’ve been up all night, you don’t notice that the incense has burned up. But to everyone else, outside of this incense-filled, vinyl-playing apartment, you look like the closest of friends. People say that you’re roommates, so now you make jokes about it. You spend your nights awake because your relationship isn’t fit for daylight.
And I chose you, the one
I was dancing with in New York
Looked up at the sky and it was
Despite the fears surrounding your relationship, you chose this person. New York, the city of your coming of age, screams your lover’s name. While everything in your life burns down, you dance. You dance, because your lover is here. You would choose love over the fear of what the world thinks every time. But you feel it ending, catastrophic and bloody.
The burgundy on my t-shirt
when you splashed your wine into me
how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet it was…
The mark they saw on my collarbone
the rust that grew between telephones,
the lips I used to call home, so scarlet it was
maroon.
This is the kind of love that marks you like a bloodstain. It was so intense, you can’t wash your clothes anymore. Your former lover is still all over you like a wine-stained dress. But you can’t wear it anymore. You can’t wear anything that reminds you of her. It comes back to you in screaming color. You thought love would be burning red, and you were right.
When the silence came we
were shaking blind and hazy.
How the hell did we lose sight of us again?
Sobbing with your head in your hands.
Ain’t that the way
shit always ends?
The love you hoped would never end ends the way things always do for you. Sobbing. Empty. The things you swore would never get in the way of your relationship keep you from seeing what made all of this worth it. The haze is no longer the protection around your relationship. It’s the very thing keeping you from seeing each other.
You were standing hollow-eyed in the hallway,
carnations you had thought were roses: that’s us.
I feel you no matter what,
the rubies that I gave up.
What people saw on the outside, what you once saw yourself, was roses. Traditional love, marriage between a man and a woman. But you and your lover weren’t roses afterall. You were carnations, a symbol of queerness, another flower on the list. In the years following the end, you still feel her. She was everything, and eventually, even you had to give up.
And I lost you, the one
I was dancing with in New York
Looked up at the sky and it was
The burgundy on my t-shirt
when you splashed your wine into me
how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet it was…
The mark they saw on my collarbone
the rust that grew between telephones,
the lips I used to call home, so scarlet it was
This time, when you look at the sky, you see the devastation. The rose blush has faded into rust. She stops answering your calls. You stop trying. She put this into you, and now she’s gone. Midnight was once the space you shared. Now, when you watch as time moves on without you. You’ll never move on. How can you, when nobody sees what you’ve gone through?
And I wake with your memory over me.
That’s a real fucking legacy, legacy.
And I wake with your memory over me.
That’s a real fucking legacy to leave
The lover you begged over and over to stay, she left. From the little sleep you find, you wake up—thinking about her. You’re drowning in it. All of the secret moments, all of the laughter shared, all of the wine is gone.
The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me
And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet…
The mark they saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones
The lips I used to call home, so scarlet it was maroon
Eventually, you become so painfully numb. All you can do is remember. All you can do is hope she remembers it too. You go over it in your mind again and again, hoping the wine and the blood will fade enough for you to breathe. It never seems to end.
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