No one, no one
Writes anti-love songs in a film industry that only commissions love songs
the numbers
- bpm
- 103
- key
- B major
- energy
- 0.69
- dance
- 0.94
- valence
- 0.48
- vocal at
- 9.0s
- length
- 3:23
- language
- Ta
lyrics
Amma’s chair by the kitchen wall Steel tumbler, six o’clock call She trims the mango, slow and neat Then folds her hands on the seat She looks at him from under her lens Says, “Not your type, not your friends” Her gold bangles tap on the tray And she sends every new face away She asks your name, then looks at me Like one small nod could set you free The fan turns slow above the tin And I know how the verdict begins No one, no one No one gets her nod No one, no one No one gets her nod No one, no one No one gets her nod She keeps her card And she keeps her nod Sunday soap on the tiny TV Curved old comb in her oily hair She says his shirt is too blue His laugh too loud, his shoes too new At the bus stop, near the paan stain She shakes her head at the whole lane If love wears sandals, she’ll still see A wrinkle, a reason, a wrong degree She tastes the pickle, wipes her thumb Says, “Let them talk, let them come” The samosa oil on the newspaper Can’t soften what she’s saving for later No one, no one No one gets her nod No one, no one No one gets her nod No one, no one No one gets her nod She keeps her card And she keeps her nod But last night, near the banana box She smiled once, just a tiny shock She pushed his plate, kept her eyes low Then said, “Eat first, we’ll see slow” No one, no one No one gets her nod No one, no one No one gets her nod No one, no one No one gets her nod She keeps her card And she keeps her nod