Delete the photo
Barber turned artist
the numbers
- bpm
- 99
- key
- G minor
- energy
- 0.72
- dance
- 0.89
- valence
- 0.42
- vocal at
- 0.6s
- length
- 2:52
- language
- En
lyrics
On my phone at six-oh-two Your face sits where the icons do I try to swipe, but my thumb won't land It's one small frame in my left hand The corner's bent from Kanda rain Your red shirt still knows my name I lock the screen, I turn away But that one shot won't clear my day I tap the bin, I tap again It stays there hard like a nail in tin My pocket feels like a waiting room One tiny picture, too much room Delete the photo Delete the photo Delete the photo Delete the photo At Makola by the bus-stop stand I saw that smile in the screen again Market noise and a taxi horn Still your two eyes kept me worn I hid the phone in my black jean Then pulled it out like a bad routine I know the name, I know the pose Still I can't break what the camera holds Delete the photo Delete the photo Delete the photo Delete the photo If I could drop it in the bin by the sink If I could watch that small face sink But my finger stops at the final move Like my whole chest won't let me choose Delete the photo Delete the photo Delete the photo Delete the photo