The Tortured Poets Department

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 loved 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?

Nobody.

Nofuckinbody.

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?

And who's gonna know 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?

Nofuckinbody.

Nobody.

Nobody.

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

Cause we're … Crazy.

So tell me

Who else is gonna know 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,

Gonna know you

Gonna troll you?

You left your typewriter at my apartment

Straight from the Tortured Poets Department

Who else decodes you?