“Lonesome” comes from Toronto producer FTP, real name Jaden Burton, one of the city’s youngest open-format DJs, and already a name across some of the hottest venues in the country. He’s spun at Rebel, Apartment 200, Early Mercy, even major stages like Scotiabank Arena and The Drake Hotel. In 2018, he became the official DJ of the Ryerson Rams and held it down at Kawhi Leonard’s first open practice in Toronto. Since then, he’s landed residencies at downtown clubs while using his platform to put other local talent on.
The track features lead vocals by Martina Bósèdé, a Nigerian-Irish performer with deep roots in both club culture and live shows, now based in Toronto. She’s opened for Rihanna and 50 Cent, spun red carpet events, and built a rep on movement—onstage, on the mic, behind the decks. Here, she slows everything down. Her delivery is intimate, heavy-lidded, holding onto phrases just long enough to make you feel what’s underneath. FTP keeps the tempo tight, almost minimal, letting the silence between beats do some of the talking.
We was fine / tell me why / every time you say goodbye / it don’t feel like I need you. There’s no desperation in her tone, just that quiet steadiness you fall into when the fight’s already drained out of you. He’s not gone yet, not fully, but the emotional exit’s already been dragged out across too many nights. We was fighting every night. It’s history repeating, in loops. Familiar, messy, seductive in its own fucked-up way.
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The tension sits low in her chest where it hurts most. I got decisions to tell you / you tryna get in the venue / you made me come to the rescue / so I guess you owe me. She’s spelling out the power dynamic, but she’s not flexing it. She’s tired because she’s the one who fixes shit, who shows up when he flakes, who puts her name on the guest list and her body on the line. She does it because she still cares. And he’s used to that.
And when she says I’ll take you home and undress you / don’t make me have to address you, there’s no tease in it. The words hit flat and final, already halfway to regret. She’s done this before. She knows exactly how it goes, so she’s already bracing for the aftermath, already resentful of how easy it is to fall back into his bed. Craving doesn’t drive this. Control does. Undressing him means he doesn’t get to hold power. She fucks him in the one space where the rules are hers. Talking ruins that, but hearing him talk ruins it more. She just wants to get off and leave before she starts hating herself for staying.
And then: I been lone lonesome. There’s nothing fragile about the way she says it. It just is. Over and over. It becomes the pulse of the song, that echo you feel when you’re wrapped up in someone who never really shows up for you. He’s next to you in bed. You’re still alone. The night plays out the same way it always does. You can spend the night / I’m in the club dancing all on you again tonight / I’ll give it all to you. She doesn’t believe in the romance anymore. She’s there for the release.
By the second verse, the script’s already worn thin. Push away then pull me tight / sometimes I’m just so confused. That push-pull cycle that fucks with your nervous system. Watch us fade out of sight / I just wanna see this through. She knows where it’s going but hasn’t decided if she’s really ready to stop. You need to come to your senses / all of this drama is endless. There’s a sting in how plainly she says it. He’s the one who drags it out, but she’s the one who keeps picking up the pieces.
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I forgive so defenseless. That line sits in your stomach like the truth you didn’t want to admit. She knows he’s no good for her. Too many times you told me / I give into your affection / seems I just can’t learn my lesson. She’s watching herself fall for it again in real time. And maybe that’s the most brutal part, knowing it’s a trap and still walking back into it because it’s the only kind of closeness that feels familiar.
The beat never pushes too hard. It lets the words stay centered. No drop, no climax—just that same seductive rhythm that mimics the emotional loop she’s caught in. She says what she needs to say: I been lone lonesome. Then she lets it sit. Nothing is resolved, so she falls back into the same arms that made here ache in the first place.
“Lonesome” doesn’t pretend to heal. It tells the truth quietly and seductively. And for some of us, that’s more honest than closure ever could be.
