I was packing a move to New York CityYou were the last thing I thought I'd findMiles and miles away you should be gone nowBut our years together play like movies in my mindCause I found your letters and the John Martin recordThat we spun till it was deadI found your mixtape for the roadAnd two tickets to a showAnd your song from under my bedAnd now I can't get you out of my headGet out of my headMemories of you start to reappearAnd they're getting harder to ignoreI swearI can't get you out of my headI heard you singing in the kitchenAnd your bare feet tappingAnd the rhythm on the floorAnd I thought I saw youWalking through that doorOh, I wish you'd walk through that doorWhy don't you come get your lettersAnd that John Martin record that we spunAnd tell me that you love meTill it was deadCome get your mixtape for the roadAnd two tickets to a showAnd your song from under my bedCome get yourself out of my headGet out of my headGet out of my headGet out of my headGet out of my headOh, now that you're hereYou're far more beautifulThan I rememberOh, remind me whyWe're not togetherShouldn't we be togetherWhy don't you come get your lettersCome get your lettersAnd we'll spin some recordsThen go out and paint the town redI've got two tickets to a showAnd I think that we should goAnd if you wantYou can crash on my bedCause I'd rather you thereThan in my headGet out of my headGet out of my headGet out of my headGet out of my headGet out of my headGet out of my headGet out of my head