F# – A – D x2
[Verse 1]
My
misophonia brought the faders up, now
she’s a
military grade, in D
olby 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 p
ass-time streamer, hanging from the rafters
I
don’t get out. I don’t have fun
. Living like a ca
ptive of the su
n.
[Bridge/Short Break]
[Verse 2]
I
sightread the chart, clap rocks into sand.
A
12-pass van on a p
ot-hold bandstand.
Got an
oil-can hangover by default,
and
trucks pave the roads with a
mphetamine salt
S
kull shaking cadence of the ‘J’ train rolls.
R
hythm of defeat, r
epeating 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 p
ass-time streamer, hanging from the rafters
I
don’t get out. I don’t have fun
. Living like a ca
ptive of the su
n.
