Photograph

I got a letter sent by cupid’s best friend
Filled with colours I could ingest
I lay my head down and went to rest
Burned through the swelling in my chest
I don’t need a ladder to be at your window
I felt so automatic, systematic, I love that photograph
When I think my heart’s a mess
She sent me a picture with no address
A pinhole painted artifact
My father took that photograph
I don’t need a ladder to be at your window
I felt so automatic, systematic, I love that photograph
I don’t need a ladder to be at your window
I felt so automatic, systematic, I love that photograph
I love that photograph
I love that photograph
Photograph
Photograph