Your Boyfriend's Back.

New York, you're perfect don't, please, don't change a thing

Your mild billionaire mayor's now convinced he's a king

And so the boring collect, I mean all disrespect

In the neighbourhood bars I'd once dreamt I would drink.

Happy Birthday Taylor. I'm sorry I passed out before midnight. Thanks for letting me crash in your bed. I'll make it up to you in the fall when you come back to Toronto. 

Stories about the trip will be posted when I'm rested.