my hair smells of coffee, and my sheets brown sugar
let's move to east london
we'll rent a little apartment with character of coarse
i'll find a cure for the winter blues
the cure will be plenty of nutmeg and peaches to boot
you'll be a bouncer
and i'll sleep through the day
i'll stay up all night counting the stars with the hope that maybe i'll be something some dAy
time slips by and i'll fly you a kite
we'll be okay