Bb_-_Hair_type320KbpsCDQ

Sim card out my phone
Not another poem where you are stuck inside your home
Stuck inside a light, you were stuck inside my phone
In another day in a big white duvet
Grey concrete, braid holes in your hair type
Crop top shirts with the ribs, okay, alright
Low waist jeans, blonde hair, I like what you like
Small little soul, pop punk in my head like

Today I wrote a song I know you'll never hear
I know you'll never hear, never here, here

You're never in my phone and I can't get acustomed
I'm not out in London, I'm not going through customs
Falling out of love in a the city of uppers
Tell me 'bout the rest of the moment, I'm fucked up