F# – A – D x2
[Verse 1]
My misophonia brought the faders up, now
she’s a military grade, in Dolby surround,
around 5.1. Cue the barking from the baritone
conductor in the pit for the car honk duet.
Half-tone harmony from the sewer.
Rebel youth choir belt phrases even newer.
Dump truck man drops the beat with trash cans,
call 911! We got therapy demands.
Philharmonic got a first chair car crash.
Pan the falsetto to smash the glass.
It’s a drive-by lullaby that couldn’t get worse.
A melody abandoned in the key of New York.
Where nothing comes after. I’m a pass-time streamer, hanging from the rafters
I don’t get out. I don’t have fun. Living like a captive of the sun.
[Bridge/Short Break]
[Verse 2]
I sightread the chart, clap rocks into sand.
A 12-pass van on a pot-hold bandstand.
Got an oil-can hangover by default,
and trucks pave the roads with amphetamine salt
Skull shaking cadence of the ‘J’ train rolls.
Rhythm of defeat, repeating like a pulse.
Marching on and static, lyrics shout a retort
to the melody abandoned in the key of New York
Where nothing comes after. I’m a pass-time streamer, hanging from the rafters
I don’t get out. I don’t have fun. Living like a captive of the sun.
