It was the hottest summer since records began but nobody really knows when they did

One for sorrow two for she’ll tell me how her day went

You can’t measure anything good in football pitches or empire state buildings stacked on top of one another

All the good stuff is ephemeral

  

Last October was the wettest October in 43 years and still I did karaoke three times and met you

I'd go on to write a hundred songs about what that felt like

And maybe that is some kind of record but

Not one you can measure in Olympic-sized swimming pools or some other widely accepted euphemism for falling in love

  

One for sorrow

And two for love

You can

Tell me everything

On and on and on

 

One for sorrow

And two for love

You can

Tell me everything

On and on and on

  

Maybe a song about you shouldn’t have a conventional chorus or hook because

Any breakthrough about you would undoubtedly lead to the assassination of the professor who hypothesised your existence at all

You’re the god particle in baby bangs

The blackest black ever painted

Or the world’s largest roadside ball of yarn

  

It was a false spring, and everyone had forgotten their jacket, but you’re still out there somewhere

White hot, existing

Sorry that you couldn’t be everything I wanted you to be

Like birdsong

I often wonder what it was that you were trying to tell me

  

One for sorrow

And two for love

You can

Tell me everything

On and on and on

 

One for sorrow

And two for love

You can

Tell me everything

On and on and on