As the cream seeps in your coffee
it seems the world's been growing pale
don't want to live a lie
Gina, I'm a man of no account
I'm far too dumb to love you
I click my seat belt on,
but I wouldn't care to survive
There is nothing in this world
but supermarket checkout girls
they're dancing in the tiki lights
they're drinking beer from cans tonight
it's on
So young and so helpless
feels like suicide could be just right
I gave it my all, I'm sorry
ragged old badminton net
you just keep hanging on
So young and so helpless
feels like
feels like
feels like suicide
The dream is overloaded
and the liquor store is closed
I can't get inside
The clicking of a price tag sticker gun
florescent lights will guide you
I keep my options open wide
I never decide
There is nothing in this world
but supermarket checkout girls
they're dancing in the tiki lights
they're drinking beer from cans tonight
it's on
So young and so helpless
feels like suicide could be just right
I gave it my all, I'm sorry
ragged old badminton net
you just keep hanging on
So young and so helpless
feels like
feels like
feels like suicide
There is a man that I want to be
a person of wealth and integrity
the blades of the grass and the leaves on the tress feel the pain
I'll fester and rot in your memory
Gina your name sounds like shit to me
We stand at a loss as these trails of exhaust streak the sky
Win for life ticket
Milk carton, tabloids
Shopping cart drag race
freezer pop headache
Win for life
win for life
win for life win for life
The bus picks up passengers and runs all the way up Main street and out of my view. Beyond the rows of storefronts and power lines, smokestacks send up little black puffs - fluffy cancer clouds that dissolve into a gray miasma, hanging foreboding and grim above the urban mishmash of brick houses, poorly planned septic systems, two car garages, gas stations, overweight police officers, pregnant chain-smoking teenagers, self-made millionaire windsurfers. A little further out, there are barns and silos, and of course, the old pharmaceutical factory. Every morning the parking lot fills up with Jeep Cherokees, rusty old Ford Tauruses, and some Japanese cars, too. At exactly 8 o'clock the bell rings, and everybody lines up to insert their punch card. Ka-chunk! You're right on time.
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