[atkina]

Blue jeans, white shirt,

Walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn,

It was like James Dean, for sure,

You're so fresh to death & sick as ca-cancer.

You were sort a punk rock, I grew up on hip-hop

But you fit me better than my favorite sweater,

And I know that love is mean, and love hurts

But I still remember that day

We met in December