observing the remains of what was a frantic friday night.
a shuffling drunk, fallen fried chicken and crushed cans,
an eerie stillness surrounds, looks cold, but don't feel so.
Leaving the flat of a girl i was once crazy for a year ago
Looking back i actually snuck out- we where drunk.
Not quite the way i wanted it to go down, but i guess it never is.
London stories never end like they where written in hollywood,
London don't end the way you expect- that's why london's good.
She kissed me and i kissed her,
i don't know what more i could have asked for.
a smile springs on my face wondering why i snuck out that door
and if she's awoken yet, or maybe she doesn't know i've left
maybe she's happy, maybe I've become another woman's regret
being a londoner it's probably the last thing i expect.
