I'm Oh, and so

much. Oh,

oh, oh, oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Cold couch, loose green glow, take out a box from two nights ago.

You text you up, a lie and say yeah, stepping at a single curly fry in there.

Leftover french fries at 3 a .m. Taste like Oh my bad decisions Soft on my tongue

You in my head Guess I like you best When you have passed it Left with French

fries At 3 a .m. Can't try to stay like a confession If I eat this,

Will you call again Or in my love Left door Death That's over Oh

Microw Like it understands That I always circle back Things I should have can You

work Just for the night, then, just for the summer, now it's winter, and a carny

it's after getting on my know. But French fries, 3 a .m.,

taste like all my bad decisions. You talk to my tone, you're in my hair,

you sound like you bays, when you have that step. That's all French ride To be a

Can't you stay like the confession? If I eat this,

will you cord then? Or am I to rest over again?

I could.

I could go this out, I could block your name But I heat it up and I read your

base Pulling through what I just so comfortably Because I said it didn't have

anything Now my game