You left your typewriter at my apartment
Straight from the tortured poets department
I think some things I never say
“Like who uses typewriters anyway?”
But you’re in self-sabotage mode
Throwing spikes down on the road
But I’ve seen this episode and still love the show
Who else decodes you?
And who’s gonna hold you?
Like me
And who’s gonna know you?
If not me
I laughed in your face and said, “You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith
This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots”
And who’s gonna hold you?
Like me
No, nobody
No-fucking-body
Nobody
You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate
We declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist
I scratch your head, you fall asleep
Like a tattooed golden retriever
But you awaken with dread
Pounding nails in your head
But I’ve read this one where you come undone
I chose this cyclone with you
And who’s gonna hold you?
Like me (Who’s gonna hold you?)
And who’s gonna know you? (Who’s gonna hold you?)
Like me
I laughed in your face and said, “You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith
This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots”
And who’s gonna hold you?
Like me (Who’s gonna hold you?)
No, nobody (Who’s gonna hold you?)
No-fucking-body (Who’s gonna hold you?)
Nobody (Who’s gonna hold you?)
Sometimes I wonder if you’re gonna screw this up with me
But you told Lucy you’d kill yourself if I ever leave
And I had said that to Jack about you so I felt seen
Everyone we know understands why it’s meant to be
Because we’re crazy
So tell me who else is gonna love you? Like me
At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on
And that’s the closest I’ve come to my heart exploding
Who’s gonna hold you? Me
Who’s gonna know you? Me
And you’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith
This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re two idiots
Who’s gonna hold you?
Who’s gonna hold you?
Who’s gonna hold you?
Who’s gonna hold you?
Who’s gonna hold you?
Who’s gonna hold you?
Who’s gonna hold you?
Who’s gonna hold you?
Gonna know you?
You left your typewriter at my apartment
Straight from the tortured poets department
Who else decodes you?