| A mattress and a stereo, | |
| Just like I started. | |
| And a note composed with thumbs and phone | |
| On unpacked boxes. | |
| It's so well written, | |
| But I won't be sending it. | |
| And I will not forget you; | |
| There is nothing to forget. | |
| Oh, so there. | |
| Through shiny streets and dirty snow, | |
| Blue skies and deadness, | |
| Oh Brooklyn it's my second sleep. | |
| I damn well did this. | |
| The world got big again. | |
| You could get rid of it. | |
| And I cannot forget you; | |
| There is nothing to forget. | |
| Oh, so there. | |
| You taught me nothing. | |
| I owe you nothing. | |
| How could I forget you | |
| When there's nothing to forget? | |
| Oh, so there. |
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