Next to Hudson Yards, it's crowded on the weekdays
From April to May
Parse apart a troubled heart from an e-train
And sing about it in L.A.
With clouds in the rearview
You start humming along to the first verse
Of your favorite song that you quote each day
With the words all wrong
So call me when the world looks bleak
I love you, but it's hard to believe
With every day we'll start to see
The rest is metamodernity
With agrestic charm, it's humid in the Midwest
From June to July
All beneath a pinkish sky from the wildfires
Which mantle the horizon line
From the outset
It's been hard to tell
Why we feel this down
When it all bodes well
So call me when the world looks bleak
I love you, but it's hard to believe
With every day we'll start to see
The rest is metamodernity
