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We could fight, in the park
Scuffle, grapple on the grass
Flint and steel for the spark
Burnt myself again
Slinking low, back seat, double decker
On my phone, words received, keeping track of Becky with the good hair
Fucking creep, Instagram
Anxiety and drinks on tab
River deep, mountain high
You know me, still cooking ham
Staring at walls again
Could do with some painting
Missing all these calls again
I’m feeling complacent
Talking bout the same shit
Man, I’m feeling like a waster
Nothing ever good enough
I’m feeling out of place, love
I’m feeling out of place, hun
Feeling like waster
Tryna paint a canvas but I’m running outta space, love
Whiskey breath inspection and she’s looking at me vexed
Tryna find my way out of the chamber of reflection