• Taylor Swift

    The Tortured Poets Department • The Tortured Poets Department (2024)18 översättningar

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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,
no-fucking-body.
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?
(Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you?)
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?
(Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you?)
No-fucking-body.
(Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you?)
Nobody.
(Who's gonna hold you, gonna know you, gonna troll you?)
Nobody.
 
Sometimes I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me
But you tell 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?
Who's gonna hold you?
Who's gonna hold you?
Who's gonna hold you?
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?
 

 

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