LYRICS
Use A− / A+ to adjust text sizeThe Tortured Poets Department
You left your typewriter at my apartmentStraight from the tortured poets departmentI think some things I never say"Like who uses typewriters anyway?"But you're in self-sabotage modeThrowing spikes down on the roadBut I've seen this episode and still love the showWho else decodes you?And who's gonna hold you?Like meAnd who's gonna know you?If not meI laughed in your face and said,"You're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti SmithThis ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we'rе modern idiots"And who's gonna hold you?Like meNo, nobodyNo-fucking-bodyNobodyYou smokеd then ate seven bars of chocolateWe declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artistI scratch your head, you fall asleepLike a tattooed golden retrieverBut you awaken with dreadPounding nails in your headBut I've read this one where you come undoneI chose this cyclone with youAnd who's gonna hold you?Like me (Who's gonna hold you?)And who's gonna know you? (Who's gonna hold you?)Like meI laughed in your face and said,"You're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti SmithThis 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 meBut you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leaveAnd I had said that to Jack about you so I felt seenEveryone we know understandsWhy it's meant to beBecause we're crazySo tell me who else is gonna love you? Like meAt dinner you take my ring off my middle fingerAnd put it on the onepeople put wedding rings onAnd that's the closestI've come to my heart explodingWho's gonna hold you? MeWho's gonna know you? MeAnd you're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti SmithThis ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we're two idiotsWho'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 apartmentStraight from the tortured poets departmentWho else decodes you?
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