Song
Meet Cute
Hollywood says love happens over swapped coffee orders, shared books and umbrellas in the rain. London says it happens over spilled gin, dating apps and someone being sick behind the chicken shop. 'Meet Cute' is a dreamy rom-com that gradually realises the best happy ending might be the life you've already built for yourself.
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Words
Lyrics
Verse
Your cappuccino, my long black — swapped in the rush,
Two lids, two names, one accidental blush.
You say, “That’s mine,” like it’s fate on a tray,
And the barista watches rom-coms happen all day.
Chorus
But out here it’s elbows and spilled cheap gin,
It’s shouting your name over synths and sin.
It’s mould in the bathroom of Zone Two “cute”,
It’s “Where d’you live?” like a background dispute.
It’s someone called Liam, it’s someone too drunk,
It’s vomit in alleys behind Chicken & Chunk.
No camera, no soundtrack, no perfect first line—
Just London, just lonely, just apps eating time.
Verse
Same dog-eared novel, same thumb on the page,
Two hands in the poetry aisle, same private stage.
You laugh at the blurb like you’re in on the joke,
And London feels softer through the dust and the oak.
Chorus
But out here it’s elbows and spilled cheap gin,
It’s shouting your name over synths and sin.
It’s mould in the bathroom of Zone Two “cute”,
It’s “Where d’you live?” like a background dispute.
It’s someone called Liam, it’s someone too drunk,
It’s vomit in alleys behind Chicken & Chunk.
No camera, no soundtrack, no perfect first line—
Just London, just lonely, just apps eating time.
Verse
Last seat on the Overground, we fold into one,
Your coat on my shoulder, my screen on the sun.
Service suspended, so we talk like it’s easy,
Two strangers pretending the city’s not greasy.
Chorus
But out here it’s elbows and spilled cheap gin,
It’s shouting your name over synths and sin.
It’s mould in the bathroom of Zone Two “cute”,
It’s “Where d’you live?” like a background dispute.
It’s someone called Liam, it’s someone too drunk,
It’s vomit in alleys behind Chicken & Chunk.
No camera, no soundtrack, no perfect first line—
Just London, just lonely, just apps eating time.
Verse
You offer your umbrella, a gallant little arc,
We share a dry island in the wet and the dark.
Traffic sings chorus, neon puddles shine bright,
And my heart does that thing that editors write.
Chorus
But out here it’s elbows and spilled cheap gin,
It’s shouting your name over synths and sin.
It’s mould in the bathroom of Zone Two “cute”,
It’s “Where d’you live?” like a background dispute.
It’s someone called Liam, it’s someone too drunk,
It’s vomit in alleys behind Chicken & Chunk.
No camera, no soundtrack, no perfect first line—
Just London, just lonely, just apps eating time.
Coda
So I walk myself home in my own tight glow,
Keys like percussion, streetlight strobe.
I’ve got a career that’s mine to defend,
And women who love me — the truest best friends.
I’ve got Sunday mornings, peace, candles, a laugh,
And a buzzing small miracle that never chats crap.
If you want the lead role, bring more than a face—
’Cause I’m not waiting for cute:
I’m building my place.