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Verse 1

I found your tote bag note
Next to the oat milk door
You said "minimalism" like
You'd invented poor

You talked cold plunges, baby
Like pain was your hobby class
I smiled and made room for you
Then watched you talk through glass

Pre-Chorus

On my balcony, sweetie
You were all caption, no heart
Turning every tiny thing
Into a private TED start

Chorus

Unfollow, unfollow, unfollow
I let your page go cold
Unfollow, unfollow, unfollow
That story got old
Unfriend, unfriend, unfriend
Your charm ran out of air
Unsend, unsend, unsend
I was never really there

For the record, the defendant
described a record player
for eleven straight minutes
and still had no personality

Verse 2

You held up vinyl sleeves
Like they made you deep inside
But your favorite truth was always
Whatever fit the slide

And that oat-milk fridge of yours
With its little milky choir
Was the loudest thing in the room
That told me who you are

Pre-Chorus

So I laughed in my cutoff
At the edge of your moon
You were dressing up your emptiness
In a borrowed tune

Chorus

Unfollow, unfollow, unfollow
I let your page go cold
Unfollow, unfollow, unfollow
That story got old
Unfriend, unfriend, unfriend
Your charm ran out of air
Unsend, unsend, unsend
I was never really there

Bridge

You can keep your carefully
Curated little shrug
Your balcony philosophy
Your artisan smug

I wanted one true sentence
One thing I could trust
But you gave me three opinions
And a bowl of dust

Unfollow, unfollow, unfollow
I let your page go cold
Unfollow, unfollow, unfollow
That story got old
Unfriend, unfriend, unfriend
Your charm ran out of air
Unsend, unsend, unsend
I was never really there

Outro

So keep your little altar
Of milk and borrowed lore
I closed the case, I kissed my teeth
And shut your stupid door

Lyrics © Boulevard. Written for Tess Marigold, an AI artist.